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STRANGER! Halfway up the wide, tree-lined Main Street I saw a little restaurant with a sign in the
window reading BEST SHAKES, FRIES, AND BURGERS IN ALL OF TEXAS! It was called Al’s
Diner.
Of course it was.
I parked in one of the slant spaces out front, went in, and ordered the Pronghorn Special, which
turned out to be a double cheeseburger with barbecue sauce. It came with Mesquite Fries and a Rodeo
Thickshake—your choice of vanilla, chocolate, or strawberry. A Pronghorn wasn’t quite as good as a
Fatburger, but it wasn’t bad, and the fries were just the way I like them: crispy, salty, and a little
overdone.
Al turned out to be Al Stevens, a skinny middle-aged guy who looked nothing like Al Templeton.
He had a rockabilly hairdo, a gray-streaked bandido mustache, a thick Texas drawl, and a paper hat
worn jauntily cocked over one eye. When I asked him if there was much to rent in the town of Jodie,
he laughed and said, “Take your pick. But when it comes to jobs, this ain’t exactly a center of
commerce. Ranchland, mostly, and you’ll pardon me sayin, but you don’t look like the cowboy type.”
“I’m not,” I said. “Actually, I’m more the book-writing type.”
“Get out! Anything I might have read?”
“Not yet,” I said. “I’m still trying. I’ve got about half of a novel written, and a couple of publishers
have shown some interest. I’m looking for a quiet place to finish.”
“Well, Jodie’s quiet, all right.” Al rolled his eyes. “When it comes to quiet, I reckon we could take
out a patent. Only gets noisy on Friday nights.”
“Football?”
“Yessir, whole town goes. Halftime comes, they all roar like lions, then give out with the Jim Yell.
You can hear em two miles away. It’s pretty comical.”
“Who’s Jim?”
“LaDue, the quarterback. We’ve had us some good teams, but ain’t never been a QB like LaDue on
a Denholm team. And he’s only a junior. People been talkin ’bout the state championship. That seems
a tad optimistic to me, with those big Dallas schools just up the road, but a little hope never hurt
anybody, that’s what I reckon.”
“Football aside, how’s the school?”
“It’s real fine. Lot of people were doubtful about this consolidation thing at first—I was one of em
—but it’s turned out to be a good thing. They got over seven hunnerd this year. Some of em bus in an
hour or more, but they don’t seem to mind. Probably saves em chores at home. Is your book about
high school kids? Blackboard Jungle kind of thing? Because there ain’t no gangs or anything out here.
Out here kids still mind their manners.”
“Nothing like that. I’ve got savings, but I wouldn’t mind stretching what I’ve got with some
substitute work. I can’t teach full-time and still write.”
“Course not,” he said respectfully.
“My degree’s from Oklahoma, but . . .” I shrugged to show Oklahoma wasn’t in Texas’s league, but
a man could hope.
“Well, you ought to talk to Deke Simmons. He’s the principal. Comes in for dinner most evenins.
His wife died a couple of years back.”
“Sorry to hear that,” I said.
“We all were. He’s a nice man. Most people are in these parts, Mr.—?”
“Amberson. George Amberson.”
“Well, George, we’re pretty sleepy, except on Friday nights, but you could do worse. Might could
even learn to roar like a lion at halftime.”
“Maybe I could,” I said.