A Ghost Walks Clearfork
It was the year of Our Lord 1981 at 4:00 A.M. in the morning and Daniel DeWeese was up and abroad in the land 2 hours before the sun rose over the mountain or the first rooster even thought of giving out with a good hearty crow. What might the reason be for this flurry of activity at such an ungodly hour? Well now, that hour is not so early for Daniel as it might be for the vast majority of humanity. Daniel’s life is , to a large degree, ruled by that old idiom “the early bird gets the worm.” To answer the question. Daniel was up so early because of a trip he must make. Being the meticulous and well-prepared soul that he is, his itinerary is pre-planned and all mapped out. This early riser with wagon in tow at the Narrows town park is out on route 61 and headed up Wolf Creek at that darkened hour. The direction in which he is traveling is to the southwest. Destination? Tazewell, Virginia---a mere 55 miles away. That’s not too far distant if one is traveling in the luxury of an air-conditioned automobile. Really, just a hop, skip and a jump. Daniel, of course, doesn’t have such conveniences and luxuries at his command. Where Daniel must go, Daniel must walk. While pulling his heavy laden red wagon…
Tazewell is home to one of the largest flea-markets in this entire area. No matter what kind of junk, trash or debris you might be in the market to buy ---journey to Tazewell. You can purchase it there. By the same token, if you decide to clean out your closets, basement and attic, for goodness sake heed this advice. Don’t throw the durned stuff away! Take it to Tazewell---it’ll fetch a record price! And once you get all that mess out of those cobweb infested corners, don’t go to the trouble and bother of separating it. Shucks, just load it up as a collection. Hordes of morons are waiting to gobble it up, even fight over it. They’ll pay top-dollar too! In many instances your junk will fetch more hard cash than you plopped down 30 years ago for it’s original cost. At flea-markets one can practice his salesmanship, sharpen his eagle-eye in the fine art of spotting a good buy, and indulge in his thirsty desire to “jew somebody down.” All at the same time and location. Flea-markets…melting pots of the world. They’re great… Daniel is privy to all these facts; he frequently haunts that flea-market in Tazewell, both to sell his own wares and to replace it by occasionally buy trashy stuff to replace it.
The previous night Daniel had been busy until 10:00 P.M. loading his wagon. That trusty vehicle was now laden with 390 pounds of boxes, cartons, bags, burlap sacks, bottles, and numerous other items Daniel had gathered along the roadsides of Giles County. And grab bags! I’m reasonably sure all patrons of flea-markets are familiar with “grab bags.” Each dealer has his own little tricks and gimmicks where these “surprises” are concerned. Daniel merely takes the first 5 pieces of crap he can lay a hand on, stuff ‘em down inside a paper “poke,” ties ‘em up, puts a one-dollar price tag on ‘em and sells the cussed things. Sometimes…not too often but every now and then…the buyer at flea-markets runs high risks when purchasing “grab bags.” But shucks, you’ve heard it said many times… “ya’ git just what ya’ pay fer.”
As Daniel left downtown Narrows that morning the fella’ from Roanoke hadn’t even dropped off his newspapers at designated street corners where local newsboys pick them up. Quite probably not one other soul was astir. Daniel had no way of knowing, but in approximately 20 hours his trip and some highly unusual events surrounding that trek would create a stir not only in Narrows---people from miles around would become deeply concerned…
All my life I’ve heard that a high percentage of Tazewell Countians are well-heeled. Man! They’re rich! Now it might well be that persons relaying this information back to poor and needy Giles Countians have, at times, gotten somewhat carried away. For instance, I’ve been told on numerous occasions that Tazewell County has more millionaires than Beverly Hills, California can lay claim to. As for the authenticity of such reports…well neighbor, I can’t rightly say. I have, however, made repeated efforts of an investigative nature to gather information about the financial-standing of those good people who dwell in that County. Each and every time I meet these folks I make an earnest effort to act the role of “good ambassador.” Following a firm handshake and a 30 minute discussion about the weather and playin’ ball, I’ve put the same question to hundreds of Tazewell Countains…”Have you gotta’ lotta’ money?” This has, for some strange reason, led to repercussions. On the downtown streets of Tazewell my mouth has been busted, eyes bloused, arms and legs broken, and a whole host of other body afflictions have been heaped on my person. I’ve been “turned in” for panhandling, bummin,’ beggin,’ pummeled with sticks, bricks, and tin cans…and run outta’ town. On one occasion as the baliff was writing out the warrant I asked: “What am I being charged with this time?” In an oh so gentletone he replied: “Stickin’ your big nose into other people’s business.” “Is that a misdemeanor or felony?,” I asked the man in uniform. Right there on the spot that uniformed man was guilty of police brutality… he backhanded me! And, I might add, in a quite forceful manner. I didn’t quite see stars, but the 5 nearest planets did become vividly visible. He was very professional and adept in his action against me. The blow left no bruise or other tell-tale marks, nothing I could use in a court of law should I decide to pursue the matter further. So I swept the whole sordid affair aside and made an exerted effort to forget it ever happened. Besides, if a mountain of concrete evidence had been at my disposal to use in court I’d still have lost. In 78 years, nearly 8 decades, I’ve never won anything! But pertaining to the past few paragraphs, I’ll shout my innocence to the highest heavens. The only thing I’m guilty of is inquiring of several hundred Tazewell Countians---“Have you got a million dollars? ”…
The news about all that dough being hoarded up and stashed away in Tazewell County hadn’t been a well kept secret. Shucks, you yourself have heard of “coal money.” Supposedly those coal barons make mega-bucks mining the black stuff, then retire to Tazewell where they live out their twilight years in lavish splendor. Wanna’ know something? Daniel is aware of all this, and the unlimited potential it offers for flea-market operators. He would pry some of that loot loose from those hoggish residents of Tazewell. Daniel had it all envisioned---he’d return home in a couple days with enough cash to “pump up” the sagging economy of his native Giles. As he headed out of town past “the Boom” where he’d learned to swim40 years ago (like a fish. Daniel could slip below the waters of Wolf Creek and surface 200 yards upstream. He was amazing out there and made it seem so easy), he glanced down to that beachfront resort mecca and a brilliant thought occurred; he might donate a sizeable chunk of currency to the Narrows Lions Club. The purpose of his philanthropical gesture being to upgrade the playground facilities at the Narrows Town Park. With that noble idea in mind, Daniel was doubly determined to lay his hands on some “Tazewell money”…
As he departed from home that morning Daniel said to his wife,Vernie: “I’m not certain when I’ll get to Tazewell, but I’ll call at 8:00 tonight and let you know how things are goin’.” Being the ever-dutiful spouse who keeps the home fires burning while Daniel is on the road, Vernie very quietly said in a subdued tone: “Okay.” As events later turned out it wasn’t possible for Daniel DeWeese to make that call, and it was that fact alone… that singular fact… which provided the ingredients for this story…
Fifty-five miles is a long stretch of highway when one is pulling a cumbersome wagon loaded with 400 pounds of merchandise. Yet when viewed through Daniel’s eyes no undue hardship is involved in such a journey. This man’s life is not regulated by time and bothersome schedules. Daniel is a “free spirit” and relates very closely with the famed “wild goose.” More of us should practice his way of living life…seek and expect nothing, and be humbly grateful for what is offered. The factor separating us from Daniel is ambition…his isn’t rampant. The rest of us…well, we have way yonder too much of the damned stuff… Daniel was burning up the pavement. One factor made this possible and it worked to his distinct advantage; route 61 between Narrows and Tazewell is practically level. It was only 7:00 A.M. and already he’d arrived in the teeming metropolis that is Chapel, Virginia. He’d covered 9 miles while all others were sleeping. Well heavens to Betsy, that averaged out at 3 miles per hour! If his early pace could be maintained (this seemed highly improbable) he’d reach his destination around 10:00 P.M. tonight. But these thoughts were hardly a bother with Daniel; he had no pre-set ETA. As previously stated , time didn’t exist for Narrows’ most famed citizen. In these early morning hours he’d not encountered any folks desiring to have an early morning chat, and this, more than anything else, accounted for his remarkable progress in these first legs of a long and grueling journey. This could hardly be expected to last. You see, Daniel is a well known figure far beyond the corporate-limits of Narrows, and as lazy people arose to face the dawn and challenges of a new day, he would meet many with conversation on their mind. Daniel never meets strangers…each and every conversationalist would be obliged. He might not reach Tazewell until midnight. Or even later…
When Daniel is on the road Lady Luck tends to smile down on him. Many people with pickup trucks stop, help load his red wagon aboard, and give him a lift a few miles on down the road. Rarely must he resort to that most unbecoming of actions, “thumbing.” On this day , for reasons to be discussed later, he turned down all offers of help…
Twelve o’clock high noon, and indefatigable Dan had been pickin’ ‘em up and layin’ ‘em down. He arrived in the throbbing city that’s even more hectic than Chapel, the thriving jungle of asphalt and concrete that is Rocky Gap, Virginia. Hmm…let’s see. Eight hours…21 miles. His early morning pace had slackened somewhat, but still, all things considered, not bad. No siree, not bad at all. The hour when the sun is at it’s zenith is when people all over the world take a respite from their labors. Energy supplies for frail human bodies must be replenished, and the very best way to do this is to ingest ample helpings of fruit, vegetables and meat products ( put in shortened terms…EAT!). So Daniel decided to join the lunchtime crowd. Seeking out a nearby country mercantile store (Rocky Gap “ain’t got no” 7-Eleven), Danny quickly grabbed 4 cans of sardines, a medium-sized box of crackers, 2 16oz. jars of peanut butter, a thick slab of cooking cheese,3 moon pies, a quart of “bread and butter” pickles, and 3 big Royal Crown Colas. This comprised a scrumptious meal worthy of being served on Her Majesty’s tables inside Buckingham Palace…when traveling one should dine first-class! Besides, sardines are rich in protein and other essentials a human body so desperately craves when it is providing the motive power to pull a loaded wagon 55 miles! No other foodstuff on earth can match the nutritional value contained in a can of oily, odorous sardines. Just before3 leaving the store Daniel espied a phone, and had a notion to call Vernie, his wife. Aw..what the heck! There’d be plenty of time later for that. Or so he thought…
One-half mile farther along the intrepid Narrowsonian spotted the place he’d been searching for. A nice shade tree had taken root many years ago and grown to it’s maturity on the banks of a clear and sparkling stream called Clearfork. It’s spreading limbs now beckoned… the ideal place to take a break, and picnicing too. Daniel was at the 22 mile mark on his journey, and for purposes of whetting an appetite nothing works better than pulling a heavy wagon that distance. His had been honed to a ravenous stage, and in less than 3 minutes he regretted not having purchased at least 2 additional cans of sardines. Folks should always rest a spell after dining; the digestive system needs some time to properly perform it’s function. Daniel was aware of this fact, and sat there 45 minutes waving to every Bland County farmer who happened along. Those citizens could see Daniel’s wagon piled high with it’s ponderous load, and with aerials displaying red flags projecting 12 feet into the air. Several of the grizzled men stopped to see “what in tarnation it wuz that wuz uh’ goin’ on.” I’m headin for the flea-market up yonder in Tazewell,” Daniel informed them. Several offers of a lift came from those westbound farmers but, in Daniel’s version of this story all such gestures of good-will were flatly turned down. Seems there was some sort of record he intended breaking this day, and in order to accomplish it he needed to walk every step of the way. Acce4pting a ride---even for a short distance---would erase his chance to establish a new mark for others to shoot at, and therefore was completely out of the question… Miles unending--- hot and monotonous. Yapping dogs darting from every farm gateway to snarl and snap viciously at Daniel’s heels and wagon wheels. What the hell might be wrong with these crazy Bland County mutts anyhow? Hadn’t any of these dumb but menacing curs ever before laid eyes on a wagon? But dogs are the same everywhere. Even these farm watchdogs knew what wheels were invented for. They’d sniff, then hop along on three legs while wheels kept turning…and give ‘em a real good concentrated spraying! Dogs…they were a worry and constant nuisance every mile along the route…
Since 4:00 A.M. Daniel had traversed part of one county, crossed another in it’s entirety, and was now well within the borders of the third…this one being Tazewell. Both footsore and weary, his pace had slackened at an alarming rate. Might as well face up to it; he wasn’t going to make Tazewell today. Too much time had been wasted talking to every Tom, Dick and Harry he’d met, and that record (whatever it was)would be perfectly safe and in no danger of being shattered. His eyes had lingered too long and often on the breath-taking scenery along this beautiful and picturesque route, and while partaking of these unbelievable panoramas, Daniel had failed to notice darkness was settling in …much sooner than expected. My,my…how time do fly! Deserted, lonely and sparsely-settled highways are no place to be when black shadows begin enfolding the countryside. Wayfarers who persist in plodding along on their wearisome journeys could be inviting unforseen problems…even disaster. The hours of darkness belong to highwaymen, intent on robbery and all sorts of mayhem. NO finer example of a road fitting this description can be found anywhere than route 61 between Rocky Gap and Tazewell. Now mister let me tell ya’… “that’s way out in them thar boondocks.” In particular there were two areas where problems might arise to confront Daniel with insoluble woes. Either a pack of wild dogs might sneak in under cover of darkness and rip him to shreds, or one of those cars whizzing by would flatten him like a pancake. It seemed like all the crazy drivers in the world were concentrated in Tazewell County. Daniel pulled his wagon across a ditch and through a gate into a pasture field. Unfolding a tarpaulin, he spread it on the ground and …to the accompaniment of cows lowing in the meadow…drifted away into deep slumber Only one thing was wrong with this peaceful scene. It was now well past 8:00P.M., and Daniel had completely forgotten that phone call he’d so faithfully promised Vernie he’d make…
Back home in Narrows Vernie glanced nervously at the clock in her trailer home, and steadily grew more impatient with every tick. It was now 5 minutes past the hour of nine, and she sat anxiously waiting for the phone to ring. It would be a long and fruitless wait. This was most uncharacteristic of Daniel, not like him at all. His word was as good as gold, and unless something drastic had happened he would’ve surely called sometime within this past hour. `Daniel’s wife waited, worrying and stewing, and then waited some more. At the stroke of midnight she arose from her chair, walked to the phone, and did what must be done. Vernie called the Giles County Sheriff’s office and reported her Daniel was missing…
A fella’ can really saw logs while sleeping in wide-open spaces under a starry sky. Daniel, for a change, was having pleasant dreams. In that reverie he had come into possession of huge sums of money, the result of his best day ever at a flea-market. But every dream must end in a vague and fuzzy manner. Should he make that park improvement donation by check…or just hand Kiwanis the cold hard cash?…
Normally law-enforcement agencies won’t handle a “missing persons” report until 24 hours have elapsed since that person was last seen. But to police personnel within the Giles County Sheriff’s Department this was hardly a normal circumstance. Every member of that force (indeed, every policeman in the county) was well acquainted with Daniel DeWeese, and on more than one occasion had taken him under their protective wing. Those same officers…to a man…promptly committed the cardinal sin of police work. They injected a personal note, and thereby became personally involved in a case. A big old no-no!…
The wheels and cogs of modern-day police communications are most efficient. Within seconds after receiving the call that Daniel was missing, the dispatcher at the Giles Sheriff’s Department was in touch with his counterpart in Tazewell. The details and circumstances surrounding the case were quickly and precisely spelled out to the Tazewell dispatcher who, by the way, thought he detected a note of special urgency in the voice of a policeman calling from Pearisburg. Those Tazewell authorities were especially grateful for the description of this “missing subject.” Descriptions…dammit, in practically all police cases the biggest shortcoming in eye-witnesses is their profound inability to note detail and come up with accurate descriptions. But such was certainly not the case here. Surely this was the best description they’d ever been offered. The subject of this “missing person” report was pulling a Western Flyer red wagon piled high with junk destined for a flea-market. Flags, streamers and various banners attached to radio aerials (without the radio) fluttered wildly in the breeze . Little wonder… those aerials projected upward 15 feet into the stratosphere! Why hellsfire man…this “subject” shouldn’t be too difficult to spot! A blind man could find him!…
Two police cruisers were promptly dispatched eastward out of Tazewell to patrol down route 61…the search for Daniel had been launched and w3as underway. Tazewell deputies and a Virginia state policeman trained spotlights on every mile of route 61 between their town and the Bland County line. These were highly-trained men, but look as they may, the search was to no avail. There were no signs of life along route 61 at that horrible hour. The officers felt that further stumbling around in the dark would prove equally futile, thus at 3:00A.M.the search was called off until daylight…
Daniel’s wagon was parked in a grove of trees just 60 feet from route 61. Police vehicles had been up and down the road continuously for 3 hours, their spotlights playing and dancing through the trees a mere 2 foot above his head. The cops had missed seeing him…Daniel had kept right on snorin’ and had remained unaware of the frantic activity all around his camping spot… The news was radioed back to Pearisburg; Tazewell authorities had been unsuccessful in their search for the missing Daniel. His wife,Vernie, and other relatives had taken up vigil at the Giles County Sheriff’s office , and when that dire news came crackling in over the airwaves, their hearts sank as one. Sheriff John E. Hopkins Jr. suggested this group of good people go home for some much needed rest. There was no way they could help, he said, quite the contrary their presence might prove a hindrance to his department in this hour of crisis. Should his office receive any further news through the night fr5om Tazewell, the Sheriff assured the kinfolk, he would contact them immediately…
At the crack of dawn a caravan of police vehicles left Tazewell, heading east down route 61 to resume the search for Daniel. But a funny thing…there would be no search. Five miles down the road they met Danny Boy, nonchalantly pulling his wagon along the shoulder of that narrow ribbon of asphalt. Remembering that description, no questions were needed, identification papers were definitely not required. This was the “missing person,” the man that had caused that tremendous amount of apprehension back there in Giles County. The first officer to emerge from a cruiser approached Daniel and said: “When did you last call home, Mr. De Weese? Those people in Narrows are worried sick over your whereabouts.” It suddenly dawned on Daniel that he’d goofed-up good and proper last night by failing to call Vernie. “I haven’t called home and for good reason. Where I spent the night there wuzn’t no phones. Plenty of cows, but no phones.” A deputy radioed for a truck to be sent to this scene, and a pickup belonging to the Tazewell County Animal Control Officer arrived in 15 minutes. Six strong men were required to lift Daniel’s wagon aboard the truck, after which one turned to him and said: “If you will get in sir, we can get down to headquarters and make some calls. Your relatives are highly concerned about you, and it’s time we put their minds at ease.” But that was easier said than done. Back in Narrows a tale was spreading like wildfire raging uncontrolled before gusting winds…poor Daniel DeWeese had met an untimely end in a roadside ditch somewhere near Tazewell! On arrival at the Tazewell County Sheriff’s office a problem arose to further add to the confusion of an already complicated and deteriorating situation. The police communication line was on the blink, all phones were dead. Trouble-shooters were quickly called in , but the problem wouldn’t be solved for some time. Tazewell had no way of letting Pearisburg authorities know Daniel was O.K….
Meanwhile it was a somber time back in Narrows. In the early morning hours…and it’s never been determined just exactly who that someone was…had pushed the panic button and started an ugly scene. More than likely it started in all innocence , but you know how stories can snowball. They begin, and with each telling multiply and change. By about the tenth rendition they seldom, if ever, bear any resemblance to their seemed a certainty.original versions. And this one had truly reached an outrageous stage…Daniel DeWeese would never again be seen selling apples door-to-door in Narrows! First rumor had it that his valiant heart had simply played out. His body had been found by a farmer in a ditch near Tazewell, and foul play seemed a certainty. As citizens of Narrows arose that morning and heard the sad news, the wild rumors began spreading ever faster. A desperate band of marauding bandits had waylaid and ambushed Daniel and robbed him…He’d been shotgunned by unknown assailants…a Bowie knife was the suspected weapon…Danny had met his demise beneath the spinning wheels of a hit-and-run driver. You know how that stuff works. The news that Daniel would no longer be in our midst saddened the town like nothing ever before. People were seen in small gatherings all around Narrows, and without even asking one could easily sense what was being discussed. Daniel’s popularity was proved as never before…
Jimmy Riffe’s phone began ringing at 6 o’clock that morning, and for 24 hours never ceased. Riffe’s Funeral Home was besieged and overwhelmed with an avalanche of callers seeking information and asking: “When and where will the services be held?” Jim Riffe estimated at least 500 calls were logged, and stated that never before since he’d been in the business had he witnessed such an outpouring of public concern and sympathy. Many people today are saying our world is cold and uncaring. But that assessment is wrong. Certainly that tremendous display of concern for Daniel’s well-being refutes it. In a calm and consoling voice Jim told each caller: “Boys this is all news to me, and pending further notification from the proper authorities, I’m as much in the dark about this matter as you are. I just hope it isn’t true.”…
Tazewell authorities had no idea of the furor back in Narrows; seems people in both jurisdictions were very much “in the dark.” Had one of them been aware, perhaps one of them would have gone to a “working” phone and the whole matter could have been “nipped in the bud” before reaching the extreme it finally did. Be that as it may, things just didn’t work out that way. The police radio communication system in Tazewell was finally restored to working order, and in a matter of minutes Giles County officials learned Daniel was safe and well. The dispatcher in Pearisburg informed his counterpart about the considerable uproar this situation had fostered: “If you people’s radio has been down, why in hell didn’t someone walk to a phone and let us know this boy was alright?” “You mean to tell me they didn’t?” the Tazewell officer screamed in disbelief. “Hell, I thought someone called you!” That’s probably what happened…everyone assumed someone else had made the call. Folks, it’s known as “goofin’ up”, and it’s not confined solely to police matters. It hap-pens all the time, everywhere, and in every field. Course now, not one person who ever walked this earth has ever been guilty of “goofin’ up.”… The Tazewell sheriff told Daniel to forget about “setting-up” in a flea-market. “My office has just been informed that Giles County Authorities have an APB out on you. Your wife and family are terribly upset, in fact they’re sitting down in Narrows thinking you’ve gone on to meet your Maker. Everyone down there are apparently believing you’ve crossed over into that Great Beyond.” This news puzzled Daniel at first, but then he just laughed. And then sorta’ smiled some a bit more,,,
A local television station had been tipped off that a “human interest” story was unfolding over in Tazewell. From WWVA in Bluefield a camera and sound crew hurried to the neighboring city and did 20 minutes of filming and interviews with Daniel. That was edited to a 5 minute segment and aired throughout a three state area on the 6 o’clock news that night. Daniel was on the tube! Daniel had metamorphosed into a celebrity! Daniel DeWeese was a star…
The driver of a Roanoke City Milling Co. truck had just finished unloading his load of flour and feed-grain at the Farm Bureau store in Tazewell. It was only a little past noon so he’d make the 125 mile trip back to the Star City easily before quitting time. That is, if unforseen mechanical problems didn’t arise. He was about to crank up and get underway when, glancing thru the windshield of his rig, he observed two Tazewell policemen advancing in his direction. Grim determination was etched into every line of their craggy features…the hands of both were extended outward in the universal sign that means “hold it right there!” The immediate reaction of the driver was obvious and, under the circumstances, a perfectly normal one: “Now what the hell have I done?” “Just take it easy. I’m Officer Toliver and I have a couple questions,” he said in an official sounding voice. This remark added to the truckers already nervous state, and it showed: “ I’ll be happy and more than willing to cooperate in anyway I can.” “Which way do you travel on your return trip to Roanoke?” the officer wanted to know. The trucker didn’t understand the reason for this strange question, but quickly answered: “Through the tunnel and across I-77 to Wytheville.” “A request if you will. We’d like you to take route 460 to Narrows. We have a man strande4d here, and it’s very important that he get back down there quickly as possible. Think you can help us out with this matter?” “Sure,” said the driver. “The distance is about the same. Be glad to drop him off down there.” He really wasn’t supposed to haul riders (somethin’ or other to do with insurance) but under the circumstances he really had no choice. “Follow us” said the policeman. With sirens screaming and red lights blinking they pulled away, the huge truck close to their bumper. Pedestrians on the street craned their heads to watch the strange sight, and several were asking the same question: “Wonder what the hell is comin’off?” Two vehicles had left the Farm Bureau. Four minutes later on arriving at the police station that number ballooned to 29. Those other 27 were motorists who had been out joy-riding and had fell in line to find out for themselves “just what the hell is goin’ on.” Curious people simply can’t resist… they follow fire trucks, police cars, ambulances, any rolling vehicle with wailing siren and flashing lights, blue or red. I’m acquainted with one weirdo who even has a fetish for vehicles with yellow lights who are hauling mail on rural routes. You know the old saying…”takes all kinds”…
Daniel’s wagon was loaded aboard the Roanoke Milling truck and he climbed into the cab. He looked down into an assembled crowd numbering 200 when someone yelled: “Come back to see us ,Daniel.” “I certainly will, and it’s been real nice meetin’ you fine folks. You’ve shown me bushels of southern hospitality, and if you’re e3ver down Narz way look me up. I live near the cattle market.” In one hour and thirty minutes he was delivered to the front door of his home. Daniel had been around the loop…and hadn’t sold a damned thing…
In the next few days Daniel was a very puzzled person. Folks were paying him an undue amount of attention. Going out of their way, they were, to be especially nice. Everyone he met greeted him with a handshake, slapped him on the back, told him how hale and hearty he looked, wished him well, said they’d watched his great performance on television, and hoped he and Vernie would have a long, prosperous and happy life together. And, of course, every one of them wanted to hear about his “Tazewell adventure.” “Well thank you, I’m feelin’ fine,” Daniel replied, and then began telling, for the umpteenth time, this story you’re just finishing. It’s the one that has prompted many people to call Daniel “the ghost that walked Clearfork”…
The End
This story was written in 1982, soon after the event occurred in 1981. I feel a postscript is needed now, in July 2007. Daniel passed from this earth on May 21, 1995. There’s virtually no doubting he zoomed upward to a “known destination.” On July 21, 1999 Vernie, his dutiful wife, still carrying a slender willow switch as a “persuader to make Daniel see things her way,” followed him into the sky…
M.L. Wilkinson Pearisburg July 2007
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