volume one IN THE D U D L E Y C L A R K - Ohio Vine Tours

There’s only one way to find out.
He unhooks the Sony tape player from its honored place
beneath his gut and peels back the duct tape so he can open its
little door. He studies the tape again and wishes again—Roy
and his wishes—that whoever had left it had labeled it as well.
He inserts the tape into his Sony player.
He closes the hatch and smoothes down the tape’s frayed
edges, then covers his ears with his headphones.
All that’s left is to press PLAY.
He closes his eyes.
It occurs to him that he forgot to wash his face.
But who wants to wash his face in brown water?
What if this isn’t what he’s hoping it is? Then he will feel like
he did as a kid on all those Christmas mornings when Santa
didn’t bring him anything because he hadn’t been good enough.
Boy, is he ever glad his kid years are over.
He presses PLAY.
click
Nothing happens for a little while, as the ferromagnetic tape
winds its way through the machine—much the way ferrous
water winds its way through the building—threads through the
capstan and pinch rollers, then across the electromagnetic heads
at approximately 1.875 inches per second.
And this is what Roy hears: static.
White noise.
Then comes a bump.
Then comes The Music.
11 ROY ROGERS IN THE 21ST CENTURY