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

The big, bracketing houses on either side of Mel’s—along with
the many trees and shrubs—serve as sound buffers so that, with
each step Roy takes towards Mel’s front porch, set far back from
the street, the volume of the bleating horns subsides.
By the time he stands on the porch, faced with the problem of
Mel’s front door, he can barely hear them at all.
The problem of Mel’s front door is this: Roy has to knock. Or,
if the door is unlocked—which it often is because Mel is a homo
and believes in the tooth fairy—then he can simply enter. That
way he won’t have to knock. So, the first thing he has to do is try
the doorknob. In order for him to try the doorknob, he must first
try the screen door to see if it is unlatched.
Roy tries the screen door and discovers that it is, indeed,
unlatched.
So far, so good.
He takes a deep breath—far off, muted horns bleating
madly—and cranks the door knob.
To his great relief and satisfaction, Mel’s front door is
unlocked. Roy opens it wide enough to intrude his head.
Laughter from deep within the house affronts his sensitive
ears. This is discouraging news. The only time Rick laughs is
when he’s drunk, and when he’s drunk is when he is usually his
meanest.
Briefly, Roy thinks again about bagging the whole enterprise.
Instead, he clears his throat and calls out—
“Hello? Hello? Rick? Mel? Can I come in?”
His voice—traveling through lath-and-plaster walls, two-anda-half
inch thick solid wood doors, drapes, antique furnishings
and Boston ferns—doesn’t stand a chance of being heard in the
back of the house where the kitchen is, where the laughers are
located.
He could knock like a linebacker and they probably still
wouldn’t hear.
And the doorbell got tired of being pushed around years ago.
So Roy steps inside.
“Hello? Mel? Rick?”
The screen door snaps closed behind him. He pushes the
heavy front door back into its white frame and latches it.
ROY ROGERS IN THE 21ST CENTURY