CHAPTER 1 – THE BAR

The Estrella de la Manana Cantina, commonly referred to by the locals as the Star Bar, or just The Bar as a matter of simplicity, offers everything you'd

expect from a bar and grill with a package liquor license. It's built of plaster coated adobe and there are large areas where the plaster fell off long ago.

The roof is flat and leaks a bit. There is a pool table that requires two quarters and a modern jukebox that requires paper currency, no coins. The

restrooms designated HOMBRES and MUJERES are outside in the back and aren't much more than outhouses attached to the main building. The

bar itself is made of mesquite wood, is shaped like the letter U and has fourteen mesquite stools around it. There are five tables along the walls that

seat four people each. At the open end of the U shaped bar is a table for the cash register, popcorn popper, shelving on the wall for liquor stock and

a doorway leading to the kitchen and storage room. A flat-screen TV with cable access is hung over the door leading into the kitchen which is

always on without the sound being on. The TV sound interferes with the jukebox, but anyone can read the closed captions on the TV if they please.

A painting on one one wall depicts a large yellow five point star rising from behind a desert mountain range complete with saguaro and cholla cactus,

a jack rabbit, gila monster, a road runner and the obligatory diamond back rattlesnake. The artist was certainly not a trained professional, but the spirit

of Arizona is all there. On the apposing wall is a mural depicting a cowboy on a bucking horse made entirely of beer bottle caps and is indeed a true

likeness when viewed from a distance. The floor is made of very aged wood with some deep gashes in places where a shod horse, that a drunk rode

into The Bar on a 4^th of July, slipped while in a panic to get out. The ceiling is unpainted dry wall with water stains and several bullet holes.

Beside each bullet hole is a note written in pencil declaring when the shot was fired, by whom and what the circumstances were. There

were no serious injuries that anyone can recall.

Liz Dilling has been the owner and evening shift bartender for longer than anyone can remember and most of the regulars are in their 60s... more or less.

Fact is, most of the inhabitants of Panteras, Arizona, population 212 according to the 2010 census, are in their 60s... more or less. The community has

two gals for every guy which is a situation common to small towns in remote areas, or not I suppose.

Nobody in town lives very far below the poverty line and very few, if anyone, lives very far above the line either.

Liz is perhaps 75 years old and does anything she can do to appear younger, which is any woman's right. Her hair is piled high, dyed red and features

ever present gray roots. She wears far too much makeup. She evidently didn't like her natural eyebrows because she plucked them bare and now draws

eyebrows in a pronounced arch upon herself. Her thin lips are always bright red that somewhat match her finger nails and over rouged cheeks. At five

feet-five inches and maybe ninety five pounds she resembles an aged Minnie Mouse in her over-sized shoes and cocktail dresses. She is always over

perfumed which isn't so bad during the winter, but is often nauseating in the summer. She always wears a pair of reading glasses around her neck like

a necklace. She has to look sideways through them because the center of the lenses are very scratched from careless use.

In summation, Liz Dilling more closely resembles and smells like an ancient madam of a brothel rather than a saloon keeper.

Aside from her semi-comical appearance, Liz is perhaps the most respected, liked and admired person in Panteras and is considered the unofficial Mayor.

Nobody has contributed more money or personal time to local causes, nor has she ever refused a personal loan or favor when it was asked for.

Her love of children and animals is the stuff of local legends. She spares no expense decorating not only her bar, but also most of the community

for all holidays and occasions both American and Mexican. Mexican-Americans, both legal citizens and illegal citizens, make up only 15% of

the town's population which is unusual for a border town. There is only one African-American woman who moved from New Orleans after

Hurricane Katrina and there is an Apache-Irish mixed family of six living on the outskirts of town. Everyone else is of varying shades of white.

Some say Liz must have some horrid bones in her closet and her generosity is pure atonement for past sins. Others say that she probably just

needs to be loved and needed since her husband died and her only son simply disappeared a decade ago.

Her husband drank himself to death, which is anyone's right, and her son was far from what you could call law abiding.

Lasha Darkmoon, which may or may not be her given name, is the elderly hippie chick who prepares food for anybody who orders from the

not so extensive menu between noon and six in the evening. Tacos, burritos, burgers and chicken wings are the preferred staples all washed down

with mostly Papst Blue Ribbon, Bud Light or Corona beer. Designer beers haven't caught on in Panteras and probably won't. Fancy beer and

fancy food can be had by driving 20 miles or so in Bisbee or Sierra Vista. Local folks like to keep it plain and simple and the number of churches

in the area are a testament to their mostly clean living. Lasha habitually wears tie-dyed T-shirts and skirts and always wears her waist length grey

hair in a pony tail. She is proud to tell anyone who might be interested that she followed the Grateful Dead around the country for years selling

tie-dyed clothing and accessories. She only wound up in Panteras because her VW bus broke down

while she was looking to score a few kilos of weed from any one of the locals who are in that business... or were.

Bartender Grace Halsell's day shift begins at ten in the morning and ends when Liz takes over at 4pm. Liz stays open until the last regular leaves,

or last dollar is spent, which is usually not much later than 9pm on weekdays and no later than midnight on Fridays and Saturdays. Grace is a

middle aged no nonsense gal with a tough biker chick image and demeanor. She is pretty and has a figure that men naturally lust after. She took

full advantage of that fact as a stripper in Oakland, California for several years in her younger days. Harley-Davidson T-shirts purchased from many

different dealerships tucked into tight jeans are her usual attire. Many local men have asked her who H.A. is when the PROPERTY OF H.A.

tattoo on her right butt cheek is noticed during romantic interludes. Most of the men became somewhat nervous after she informed them that H.A.

stands for Hells Angels, until she assured them that she is no longer anyone's property since moving away from the San Francisco Bay area many moons ago.

Ursula Haverbeck is the fill-in bartender and cook when the others have days off. 'Ursie', to her friends, was born and raised on a working cattle

ranch near Wilcox, Arizona, is tough as nails and ranch wise because of it. She is admired for her friendliness and down to earth sense of humor.

She is also feared as being someone who you would have to kill to keep her from killing you if she was to unleash herself upon you for crossing

any of the lines that she has established regarding disrespect in the form of personal insults to herself or her friends. She sometimes reminds misbehaving

patrons that she has castrated many a bull during her younger days on the ranch and can prove it here and now. Ursie isn't very far from being

pretty but her strong appetite for beer, booze and burritos makes her resemble a five pound sausage in a three pound skin when attired in her regular western wear.

Meshell Partridge is the part-time cleaning woman and trash hauler. Meshell is the only African American in town. She lost everything she owned,

which wasn't much besides her rented furnished apartment, clothes, photos, keepsakes and a thirty year old Ford Pinto when Hurricane Katrina flooded

New Orleans in 2005. After being 'paroled', as she refers to it, from a FEMA camp following Katrina she traveled by bus as far as Benson, Arizona

where her adult son picked her up and brought her to nearby Sierra Vista where he is stationed at neighboring Ft. Huachuca as an Army

communications specialist. Meshell and her son's wife butted heads for two days until the wife announced that either Meshell had to leave or else

she was leaving. Meshell was the only person to respond to an ad Liz had placed in the Sierra Vista Herald for a part-time custodian. The interview

didn't take long. Liz asked her if she had a drivers license, if could she drive a standard transmission pickup truck and was she

allergic to bleach or ammonia. Annie answered yes, yes and no and she was hired and things worked out in her favor from there.

All of the female crew at The Bar are very good at what they do and very seldom do they fall behind in their main duty of keeping the customers

happy by keeping the cold beers, and inevitable shots of Jack Daniels, coming without much of a waiting period.

A large sign near the cash register reads, NO YAPPING ABOUT RELIGION OR POLITICS and is strictly enforced... sometimes.

Now, before you imagine that an all-woman crew at The Bar could be ultimately vulnerable to rowdy drunks with large beer-muscles or quasi-criminals

with bad intentions, keep this in mind: Even a drunken fool won't fight a woman because you'll lose

either way. If you punch out a woman you lose and if a woman punches you out you really lose.

No local, even when they aren't in their right mind, will risk being indefinitely 86ed from the only bar in town, nor will they run the risk of being

dog-piled upon by the local regulars who feel duty-bound to help maintain civility on their watch.

And if a situation should get totally out of hand then an unmentioned factor comes into play.

Arizona is a conceal and carry state. It's legal for anyone 21 years of age and older to carry a concealed hand gun even into a bar as long as the bar

does not post a no weapons advisory and as long as you don't order an alcoholic beverage. Liz and her crew usually know who is carrying and

who isn't and they tolerate the carrying while drinking infraction as a matter of a last resort security measure. The Baretta Pico 380 caliber is the most

popular gun of choice lately because of it's small size and flat design. There is no NO WEAPONS ALLOWED sign at the Star Bar.

And then there is Ursie, if she is on duty, who only needs to brandish a kitchen knife and pantomime a castration to gain control of any situation.

Panteras is about four miles North of the Mexican border along the San Pedro river that begins ten miles south of the border and flows North.

The San Pedro isn't really what you could call a river, it's usually more like a creek that sometimes resembles a modest river during the summer

monsoon season. Naco, Arizona is the nearest port of entry about nine miles to the East. The Coronado National Forest begins just a few miles to

the West. You can imagine what sorts of illegal activities are common place in the area. Drug smuggling, human smuggling, and illegal immigration

are rampant. The U.S. Border Patrol vehicles are so common place that you'd think you were in a country

under military occupation and the numerous BP checkpoints enhance the appearance of being occupied.

Now that the U.S. marijuana laws are all but extinct, pot is no longer coming North from Mexico. The bad news is that hard drugs such as heroin and

fentanyl are now coming North with a vengeance, thus proving that for every door that closes, another door opens... for better or worse. Speaking of opening doors...

On a cool and beautifully bright spring morning Grace began another day at The Bar by unlocking the front door after entering by way of the side door.

As usual there awaited the regulars of regular customers who always arrived like clock work at 10am after drinking at home all morning.

First through the door, as usual, was Hank Ford. Hank is a retired auto mechanic who spent thirty five years working at a Minneapolis Chevrolet

dealership then moved from Minneapolis to Panteras to enjoy the warmth, small town pace and affordable property. And yes he still gets ribbed about

being a guy named Ford who worked for Chevy. Tucson was his and his wife's first choice as a retirement place, but Tucson had grown too big too

fast since their original visit and now reminded them of Minneapolis, only much hotter in the summer. Hank is still proud of his Navy service

during the Viet Nam conflict and always wears a baseball cap with his ship's name emblazoned on the front: U.S.S. AMERICA CV-66.

Since retiring Hank found that being around his wife day after day in their double-wide on an acre of land was rather irritating. Not that his wife is

usually anything but pleasant, it's just that she correctly thinks that it is her home and he only boards there. He tried the usual getaways such as golf,

fishing and tinkering in his shed, but soon realized that the only good thing about golf, fishing and tinkering in a shed was

the drinking of beer. So he cut out all activities except the beer drinking and became the most regular of regulars at The Bar.

Being a good natured big man at 6' 2'' and 240 pounds with long gray hair and a bushy gray beard, Hank is drafted every Christmas season by Liz to

be Santa Claus at The Bar and at various festivities around the area. After consuming a few Bud Lites Hank finds that being Santa is a hoot.

Hank and his wife never produced children of their own, so being Santa is a way to enjoy other people's children... for a little while.

Next through the door is usually Theo Adorno or Ernie Zundel.

Born and raised in Phoenix, Theo retired from the Phoenix public school system as a history teacher and coach of the Cortez High School

cross-country team. He received his liberal arts degree from Arizona State University as a history major with a minor in government.

His dream since childhood, a dream inspired by watching Roy Rogers and all the other 50s cowboy stars on TV, was to become a real cowboy someday.

Theo's dream came partially true when he moved to Panteras, after cancer killed his wife of forty years, and purchased a modest frame and stucco

house on ten acres with a small barn and corral for horses. He bought two horses, a gelding and a mare, and was determined to build up a small

herd, but that never worked out for him. He bought a serviceable saddle and tack from a feed store in Sierra Vista, but was too embarrassed to ask

the salesman how to saddle a horse and ended up asking a neighbor with horses to show him how. The neighbor was nice enough to

show him how to saddle and bridal a horse, amongst other horse tending tips, but forever after referred to Theo as 'the Citidiot' behind his back.

It became a pleasurable habit for Theo to ride his gelding the two miles into town almost

every day to check his post office box and/or pick up something from the general store.

On a hot summer morning around 11am Theo decided to stop at The Estrella de la Manana Cantina for the first time for a cold beer. He had previously

avoided The Bar because of it's reputation as being a hangout for bikers and rednecks where sometimes people with guns shot holes in the ceiling.

To his relief the bartender gal was friendly, as were the patrons, the swamp cooler provided a cool humidity and the beer was as cold as could

be without being frozen.

He liked The Bar. He had a few more cold ones and then bought a round for the half dozen other patrons who then began treating him like their new

best friend. But after a couple of hours he remembered that he had tied his horse to a scrawny mesquite tree and it was getting very hot. He shook

hands all around, tipped the bartender,mounted up and headed home determined to return sometimewithout his horse. And that's how Theo Adorno

became a regular at The Bar.

Ernie Zundel had immigrated alone to Canada from Germany in the 70s as a thirty five year old man looking to escape what he considered 'the occupation'.

He earned and saved a small fortune working as a roughneck in the Edmonton oil fields. After enduring two decades of hard outdoor work in usually

freezing weather he determined that it was time to thaw out in a warmer climate for a while. Being a fan of Hollywood western movies he set out alone

in his BMW to go see Monument Valley, the Grand Canyon, some Indian reservations, Old Tucson Movie Studios and such marvels. He did just that and more.

On an adventure, with Tombstone as his destination, he happened to wander through Panteras and stopped at The Bar for lunch and a beer. While seated

at the bar enjoying his tacos and Corona he couldn't help but overhear a discussion between two patrons about a property one of them had up for sale.

Forty fenced acres along the river with a well, septic system and electricity to the property all for a price Ernie couldn't believe, $80,000. If this was

true, all he would have to do is purchase and pull a single or double wide onto the property and he'd be good to go in what he

considered to be paradise. Ernie gestured towards the two fellows to get their attention to express his interest in the property.

They both drove him out to see the forty acres and a deal was struck that day with a handshake and a promise from Ernie to produce a cashier's check

for $75,000 the next day. He arranged his purchased double wide to his liking near the river and from then on he has considered the staff and

regulars at The Bar his family.

Usually following behind Theo and Ernie is Eric Blair. Eric is a short thin man with a wild shock of thick brown hair and a mustache to match who

dresses in yard sale clothes and exclusively uses a bicycle for transportation. He is otherwise known as the Blair witch because of his manner of

scowling while staring off into space until he is slapped on the back to bring him back from wherever it was he went. The few people who know

anything about him report that Eric fancies himself to be a serious writer of profound novels, but he hasyet to produce even one page of

anything for anyone to read. Eric has a head chock full of trivia and semi-useless information that he has accumulated

by reading boxes of paperback books of all kinds that he purchases at yard sales... along with his clothes and necessities.

They further say that if only he could somehow organize his knowledge he just might actually write an interesting book someday. As it is, he can usually

be found sitting at one of the tables nursing the same draft beer for hours while scowling at whatever it is he is fixated upon... out there. Nobody

knows much more about him beyond what they see of him in the bar or what they see of him bicycling around town going to wherever. He seems

to frequently move from one hovel to another. Panteras is a live and let live kind of town where Eric Blair is as welcome as anyone else as long as

he doesn't do anything that's considered too strange. Nobody knows what he lives on. Rumor has it that he was a union electrician in L.A. for

twenty years or so and draws a modest pension. Rumor has it.

And then there is Bob Edmundson who is the youngest of the 10am regular regulars at forty-four years old. Bob suffered a bad fall from a two

story roof top a few years ago while working as a roofer and now shuffles along more than walks due to multiple injuries to his legs, hips and back.

He was awarded a substantial insurance settlement and receives full Social Security disability benefits. He takes prescribed medications for chronic

pain and washes that down with copious amounts of Papst Blue Ribbon beer. He prefers PBR, as he calls it, because it's red white and blue and not

much matters to him beyond that. His ex-wife took his teenage twin daughters and all of the furniture back to Oceanside,

California a year ago to be close to her parents. Nobody really needs to walk too far in her shoes to know why.

Bob now lives alone in a nice four bedroom, two and a half bath house in nearby Hereford, Arizona that is not what you could call furnished.

Besides the huge-screen TV on the living room wall and the hide-a-bed where he sleeps and watches the TV, there really isn't much else besides

his Harley-Davidson motor cycle that he can no longer ride. The Harley drips oil, of course, on the living room carpet but Bob doesn't mind.

The Harley reminds him of better days. His clothes are mostly still in the suitcases that he packed when he vacated the house that his daughters

were raised in. He says that he had to move out of the house because he could still 'see' and 'hear' them there. He misses them dearly and often

wonders what it was that he said, or did, to make them shun him so. Do not feel sorry for Bob because he hates being felt sorry for and

will be the first to tell you in a convincing tone of voice.

Those who do not know Bob Edmundson, beyond seeing him seated at the bar in The Bar, imagine that all is well in his world because of his

ready smile and friendly interest in anyone and anything. He is always happy to share his pitchers of PBR with anyone holding an empty

glass and can match anyone joke for joke.

Now that some introductions have been made let's drop in and eavesdrop on the conversations

and observe the activities that go on during a typical day at The Bar... and meet some more locals.

“Mornin' Gennelmin,” Grace Halsell greeted the early birds as she opened the door. “How y'all doing?”

They responded with various grunts and cliches as they filed in such as “About to get better”,

“Another day in heaven!” and “Still above ground.”

The men took their preferred stools around the bar except for Eric Blair who took his preferred seat at the table nearest the bar with his back to the wall.

For Grace to have asked anyone what they wanted would have been beyond redundant. She began serving the preferred beers in bottles and pouring

the draft PBR for Bob and Eric. She had to come from behind the bar to serve Eric who accepted his beer with a nod and a barely audible grunt.

She turned on the TV and began the process of popping fresh popcorn. She was always very aware that men would always stare at her butt without

actually looking at it whenever she had her back to them. Even after seeing the same butt for years, they all would still stare at it.

It's just how men are.

ESPN was the usual morning show they watched for sports updates and highlights. No news programs were ever tolerated as they

were considered the same shit–different day and who the hell would want to listen to anything a politician had to say anyway.

It would be about a half an hour before the next two customers came in. Charlie Coughlin and Art McCollum arrived together albeit separately.

Charlie was an ex-pastor of his own church and a former teacher at the small bible college in neighboring Miracle Valley. Personal events, advancing

age and convincing arguments caused him to set religion aside for the duration without rancor. He had become weary of the fight between good and

evil because evil was always kicking the hell out of good... so to speak. It was time to let younger folks man the ramparts while he retired to smell

the roses and enjoy a bloody mary in the morning which is what grace prepared for him without being asked. His Social Security checks and a

small pension afforded him the lifestyle he now enjoyed. It was his routine to nurse two bloody marys until noon when he'd be the first to be served

an order of shredded beef tacos for lunch by Lasha whose routine it was to make tacos first thing for Charlie. No conversation was necessary because

all routine transactions were performed on mental auto-pilot.

Art McCollum is one of the local jacks of all trades yet master of none. With all of the men-less women in the area there is always some odd job

or another to be done. His wife had grown tired of women always asking Art for one favor or another and his never refusing them. So she put her

foot down and began telling the women to “either get your own damn husband or start paying mine to do your man jobs.” In essence, Art was

able to quit his construction job and work his own hours as a Rent-A-Husband with his wife as his agent. His own hours included some time in the

mornings to stop in The Bar for a shot of Maker's Mark and a couple of beer chasers before tackling the days tasks. The alcohol in the morning

made dealing with women with strong opinions about how to do things more tolerable. Often a second dose of alcohol in the early afternoon

would be required to be able to continue the days scheduled workload.

CHAPTER 2 – THE ASSUALT ON OUR LIBERTY

Around 11:30am a middle-aged couple entered the bar and seated themselves at a table along the opposite wall

from where Eric was sitting. Grace called over to them from behind the bar. “Mornin' folks what can I getcha?”

The man responded. “I'll have a Bud and my wife will have iced-tea... and a couple on menus please.”

Grace nodded. “Drinks coming right up and I got menus for ya but the kitchen don't open for another half hour.”

“No problem, we can easily kill a half hour just enjoying the coolness in here.”

The couple were strangers and they were dressed too nice to be locals. They more closely resembled a couple that may

have just finished a round of golf at an upscale Country Club. As Grace served the drinks she asked. “Where y'all from?”

The man responded. “We're from Tucson enjoying a little day trip. We were going to see Karchner Caverns but didn't know that you need reservations,

so we decided to make a side-trip South on the side roads on our way to Bisbee. We've lived in Tucson for thirty years but have never been in this

area before. It's lunch time so here we are.”

Grace responded. “Well, Bisbee ain't much further, but y'all are sure welcome an' we appreciate ya stoppin' in. The cook will be here shortly.”

Grace went on about her business of preparing the drinks, popping corn, tapping a keg, cutting limes, keeping the regulars serviced, wiping

off the bar and such things that bartenders do.

All the regulars noticed the Tucson couple enter but made it a point not to stare at them. Staring at strangers is considered rudeness in a saloon...

or anywhere else for that matter. They all overheard the conversational exchange between Grace and the couple, but good saloon manners

also dictates that you act like you don't hear anything at all... only because it's none of your business unless you are directly addressed.

After fifteen minutes had passed the man got up from the table with his empty beer bottle and his wife's empty glass

and approached the bar saying to Grace. “Another round please.” Grace nodded and got busy with the next round.

It was then that Hank noticed the baseball cap that the Tucson man was wearing that very much resembled his own cap, only it was emblazoned

with USS LIBERTY AGTR-5. Hank figured that he must be a Navy Vet and a kindred spirit so he spoke up. “Say Mister when were you on the LIBERTY?”

The Tucson man then noticed Hank's cap and quickly deduced where this conversation was going and replied. “I wasn't on the LIBERTY and I

wasn't in the Navy.” The Tucson man quickly continued talking upon seeing Hank's knitted brow puzzlement. “I wear this cap in support of the surviving

crew's campaign for a re-investigation of the events of June 1967. In fact, one of the crew members presented me with this cap and his personal ship's ring

in appreciation of my support.”

The Tucson man then had everyone's attention and they were all staring at him out of pure curios

puzzlement. The Tucson man continued to address Hank and added. “Do you know about the LIBERTY?”

Hank replied. “No Sir, I hadn't heard of it till now. I was four years in the Navy, but I never heard

of the LIBERTY. What are you talking about anyhow? What event in '67. What investigation?”

Lasha Darkmoon, who had arrived through the side door, poked her head through the kitchen door to hear more out of curiosity after over hearing

some of the conversation. Even Eric had focused his attention on the Tucson man. In fact, Eric was especially very focused on the Tucson man.

The Tucson man continued. “The USS LIBERTY was an intelligence ship that had positioned itself off the Egyptian coast in international waters to

monitor the events of the Six Day War. On June 8^th, 1967, Israeli Air Force and Naval forces deliberately attacked the LIBERTY fully intending to

sink it with all hands lost.

“Stop right there Mister!” Demanded Theo Adorno. “I have a degree in history and taught history for thirty years and I don't believe that our only

ally in the Middle East would do any such thing.” He continued. “Where do you get this crap from anyway and why the hell would Israel want to sink an American Navy ship?”

Theo continued out of pure indignant disbelief. “It surely was some kind of mistake. It had to be. It was probably dark or foggy or whatever. It simply can't be true at any rate!”

It was then that the Tucson Man's wife spoke up addressing Theo. “My husband is far from being either a liar or a fool Sir, I can assure you that he

is telling the truth. Research it yourself.” She continued. “Israel deliberately tried to sink the USS LIBERTY in daylight on a beautiful clear day

and killed 34 crewmen in the process. I could not believe such a thing could happen myself which is why my husband and I made it a point to

contact surviving crew members several years ago to get to the bottom of it all. We got the real story directly from the people who were actually there!”

Hank then spoke up in a very condescending tone of voice. “But why in hell would an ally want to do such a thing, it makes about as much sense as

you do.” Hank then noticed the Tucson Man draw back and stiffen to his full height, which was about Hank's height and the man probably weighed

as much or more. Hank had been in enough fist fights in his time to learn that being punched in the face hurts pretty bad and he'd had enough of learning

that lesson. So he added. “Look, no offense, but ya gotta look at this from our point of view. Ya just can't stroll in here from wherever

and be runnin' down Israel with some crazy story that we are supposed to believe outta hand. It just doesn't make any sense I tell ya.”

The Tucson Man's posture relaxed some and he continued. “Israel wanted the United States to help them smash just about every country in the

Middle East, all of whom we're, and still are, Israel's mortal enemies. The Israelis figured that if they could sink an American Naval vessel,

with all hands lost in the process and blame it on Egypt, then Americans would be more than willing and able to assist with Israel's destruction

of all of her neighboring enemies. Very much like Pearl Harbor.”

“WHAT!” interrupted Theo. “What does Pearl Harbor have to do with anything?”

The Tucson Man's wife stood up at their table and said to her husband, “Let's go Chuck, I think we are ruining these people's day.”

Chuck reached behind himself to his back pocket and produced his billfold, selected a twenty dollar bill from it and placed it near the untouched

Bud and ice tea. Then he said to Grace who was nervously and unnecessarily wiping off the bar. “Thank you.” He then rejoined his wife who

was already walking away, placed a hand on her lower back to urge her ahead of him at a quicker pace and out the door they went.

The last thing they heard as they went through the door was, “can you believe those assholes?” They figured correctly that Theo had said it.

Grace felt duty bound to give the Tucson couple their change for the twenty, so she quickly made the correct change, hurried from behind the

bar and trotted out the door to where the couple had gotten into their car. She held out the bills and coins saying. “You forgot your change Mister!”

Chuck responded. “That's all yours and I'm sorry about upsetting everybody, sometimes my cap opens up a can of worms.”

“Don't worry 'bout it Mister, they'll simmer down, and I'll tell ya what. I ain't no fan of Jews anyhow. My Grampa, who ain't with us any more,

he had a book laying around his house once and I read most of it. It was by Henry Ford, ya know the car maker Henry Ford. Well he wrote

that book and I still remember the title. It was THE INTERNATIONAL JEW THE WORLD'S FOREMOST PROBLEM. Ya oughtta read it some day.”

Chuck winked. “I already read it. A few times.” And off went the Tucson couple to perhaps a pleasant lunch in Bisbee.

Grace was in deep thought as she watched them drive away. She said to herself. “Man, if that fella read

Ford's book then maybe he wasn't kidding 'bout that ship.” She determined to look into the matter some more.

Upon re-entering The Bar and re-taking her station behind the bar she asked, “So Hank, is your real name Henry like the car maker?

“Yeah, that was my Dad's idea. But my middle name is different. Why?

“Oh nothin' I was just wonderin'.”

Hank then demanded with a crooked smile on his face, “Well quit wonderin' and get me another beer will ya!”

As she set the bottle in front of Hank while picking up the empty bottle she asked him. “Didja know Henry Ford wrote a book?”

“No, what about it?”

“Oh nothin', I was just wonderin'.” Then she broke off the conversation to see

whether or not Lasha was ready to take orders. The lunch bunch would be coming.

Eric Blair had been staring at the very spot where Chuck had been standing. He had been mustering the courage

to speak out and he was ready. To no one in particular he blurted out loudly. “THAT GUY WASN'T LYING!”

Everyone was somewhat in shock that Eric would say something at all, and to say what he said, and

say it loudly, was astounding. Theo Adorno spoke first. “Jeezuz Blair, now what? What made you say THAT?”

Hank added. “Yeah Blair, what made you come back from Mars and say that?”

Art McCollum also added. “Yeah Blair, whaddaya you know that we don't know?”

Eric knew he had committed and there was no way out now. “I read two books a while back.” He stated. “One was called ATTACK ON THE LIBERTY.

The other one was called WHAT I SAW THAT DAY, I forget the guy's names who wrote them, but they both described in detail exactly what

that guy was talking about. I believe it. I believe the Israelis attacked that ship. That guy wasn't lying. I still have those books if you would like to read them yourselves.”

There was a pregnant pause. Then Theo spoke first. “Yeah, I'd like to see these books of yours. You can't believe everything you read you know!”

Hank added. “I'd like to see them too Blair, bring 'em on.”

Then, in a kindly manner without any sarcasm, Charlie Coughlin asked.

“I would also like to examine your books Eric. Can you bring them here tomorrow?”

Eric responded to Charlie. “Sure I can. No wait, I'll go get them now!” True to his declaration, Eric stood up and took several steps towards the door.

He then froze, did an about face, returned to his table and tossed down his half empty glass of beer. Then, knowing that

he owed for the beer, he said to Grace. “I'll be right back.” Out the door he went, mounted his bike and raced directly home.

The conversations at The Bar were much noisier than usual when Ozzy Moseley strolled in and a few people were intently looking at their smart phones.

He wondered what was up. Ozzy owns and operates the local 'We Come To You' auto repair service. His one ton high-cube cargo van with roll-up

rear door and dual tires on the rear is a marvel of automotive parts and tools. There are the semi-standard engine belts, spark plugs, distributors, hoses,

jacks, a tire-buster, a 5' tall tool chest of drawers with every metric and standard tool you can think of, a varied assortment of motor oil, brake fluids,

steering fluids, etc. and etc. There is even a motor hoist that he has actually used on the road side. Jim Traficant, the area tow-truck operator and a

frequent patron at The Bar, experienced a significant decrease in revenue when Ozzy started his business a few years ago. Jim also suffered a serious

humiliation when his tow-truck threw a fan belt with a tow-on and had to call Ozzy. Ozzy compounded the humiliation by refusing to accept

Jim's money as a 'professional courtesy'. Since that day Ozzy's first beer is always paid for if Jim is at The Bar first... as a professional courtesy.

More than a few times people, only half joking, have asked Ozzy if he is rocker Ozzy Osbourne's son because of the resemblance; the long straight

blondish hair, the heavily tattooed arms, and his mannerism of half shuffling and half walking on his tip toes. He always replies “Yes I am Mate”

using a convincing slurred English accent. Ozzy Moseley's actual first name is Oswald, but he considers Oswald to be too snooty the same

way Charlie Coughlin considers Charles as being a hoity-toity name.

Ozzy chose a vacant bar stool and asked everyone in general. “What going on? What's so interesting on the phones today?”

Hank answered first. “Awww, there was some joker in here an hour ago telling everybody that Israel tried to sink an American ship on purpose,

a Navy ship back in the sixtys. He kinda pissed everybody off. Then the Blair witch announces that he has

books about the whole thing. He went home to get the books. We're lookin' up this shit on the net right now.”

“Yeah.” Volunteered Bob Edmundson who was on his smart phone. “And all kinds of stuff is popping up here. Like Israel said it was

mistaken identity and payed millions of bucks for their fuck up. And other things say it was deliberate. I don't know what to believe... yet.”

Ozzy said. “Oh!, you must be talking about the USS LIBERTY.”

There was dead silence until Hank asked. “Well whadda you know about it Oz?”

“Well, about five years ago, I think it was, on Memorial Day, I was up near Phoenix, in Maricopa, at a car show that I entered my '49 Merc in.

This was at a motor-head themed restaurant bar called... uhh... I forget the name of the place right now, but out behind the place was a large

half-covered patio and there was maybe fifty or so older people back there. They had a P.A. set up and these old dudes wearing blue ball caps,

like yours Hank, were giving speeches and saying prayers and ringing a bell and shit. And they had plaques and signs

placed here and there. Us car show people could hear 'em back there but we didn't know if it was part of the car show or what.”

Ozzy continued. “I went over and watched the goings on for a while and got real curious when a bunch of the dudes in the caps gathered together

for a photo. They were all kinda helping to hold a thick sheet of metal about a foot square with a big bullet hole in it, or more like a cannon hole.

After they were lookin' like they were done I approached one of the old dudes and asked him, nice as I could, what was going on. I could read his

cap. It was like yours Hank only it said USS LIBERTY along with some letters and numbers. The old dude kinda layed the whole story on me

while he showed me the rigamarole that they had set up.” Ozzy stopped for a moment and looked around at everyone looking at him and finally said.

“These guys didn't give me any idea that they were anything but serious. I believe this shit happened just like they said.

They had a table set up with some books for sale so I bought one.” Theo cut in and asked. “What's the title of the book Oz?”

“WHAT I SAW THAT DAY by Phil Tourney. He even signed it.”

Lasha, who had been standing in the kitchen doorway offered. “This is some real trippy shit man. It's spooky man. I need a doob.”

Eric Blair came through the door frowning while holding up a book in each hand.

As he neared the bar Ozzy squinted his eyes to see better and announced.

“That's the friggin' book I'm talking about right there!”

And added. “Hell Hank, don't YOU know about this shit, you were a Navy guy?”

“Not till this morning, no.”

Ozzy offered. “I think we shouldda nuked Israel or some shit and hung a few politicians including Johnson...

But that's just me.”

Hank asked everyone in general. “Did anybody catch those Tucson people's names, did the wife call him Chuck?”

Charlie Coughlin affirmed it. “Yes. Chuck.”

Hank said. “Well, there's gotta be more than a thousand Chucks in Tucson. I'da liked to

talk to him some more... now.” And then he asked Ozzy. “Why hang Johnson, what did he do?”

“Read the friggin book, you'll see.”

Hank then and there determined to do just that. Theo called dibs first on Eric's

other book. Ozzy offered. “If I can find my copy, anyone is welcome to borrow it.”

Hank asked Ozzy. “How come you never brought this up before Oz?”

“I did! Not here, but I brought it up a few times to some people and they told me to shut the fuck up

and called me a neo-Nazi, said the past is past and shit. It was a mistake. So I shut up... till now.”

Lasha reappeared with reddish eyes after supposedly using the ladies room outside and asked of everyone. “What are the odds of two

people in this burg both having the same book about this ship shit that even history teachers and Navy men don't know about?”

Nobody accepted the question. Hank wondered out loud. “So what else didn't they tell us in school?”

Grace offered. “I'll betcha my ass that nobody here can tell me the name of Henry Ford's book!”

Those with smart phones got right on that bet.

CHAPTER 3 – HENRY FORD'S BOOK

“I got it!” Declared Bob Edmundson. “According to Wikipedia, Ford's book was, or still is I suppose, titled THE INTERNATIONAL JEW and

then there's a slash or whatever ya call it then... THE WORLD'S FOREMOST PROBLEM. It came out in the early 20s.

Says that Ford was a anti-Semite and even tried to keep us outta WWI.”

Art McCollum asked. “So, whats a anti-Semite?”

Theo offered. “An anti-Semite is someone who hates Jewish people.”

“So Ford was a Nazi then... right?”

“I suppose.” Theo responded. “But evidently Ford's book came out

before the Nazis came to power, so Ford was something like a pre-Nazi.”

Art then asked Theo. “What was Ford's beef with Jewish people anyway,

what did they ever do to him, did they all drive Dodges or what?”

“I really don't know, but I think I'll see if I can find this book and have a look.”

Bob offered. “Well hell Theo, looks like you can go to some on line places and read it there for free in a PDF... whatever that is. And

looks like Ford had his own newspaper called THE DEARBORN INDEPENDENT where he wrote a bunch of stuff about Jewish people.”

Then Bob had a thought and called to Grace who was washing glasses. “Hey Grace! You owe me your ass and I'm here to collect.”

Grace looked up from her chore, gave Bob an exasperated look and said. “Sorry Bob, you had to know it, not look it up.”

“Well hell Grace! Who would know about a book Ford wrote like a hundred years ago?”

“I did.” She replied.

“Hey!” Bob blurted out to get anyone's attention. “Isn't Freddy Pollock a Jewish guy?”

“Naw” said Ozzy. “He must be Polish with a name like that.”

“No no.” Bob asserted. “He even wears one of those pentagrams around his neck.”

“The Star of David has six points Bob, not five.” Theo assured Bob.

“A pentagram has five points like the Pentagon has five sides.”

“Anyways, Freddy and his wife live on my road and I've never seen 'em put up a Christmas tree.”

Bob declared. “But they do put one of those candlesticks in the window.”

“A menorah.” Said Theo.

“Say what?” Bob shot back.

“The Jews call that candle stick a menorah Bob.”

“OK, a menorah it is then and the Pollocks are Jews I'm tellin' ya.” Bob continued.

“So how come you know about so much about Jewish stuff Theo, are you Jewish?”

“No, but I had some Jewish students along the way when I was teaching in Phoenix so I picked this knowledge

up from them. Where are you going with this Bob, so what if the Pollocks are Jewish, what's your point?”

“Well, Freddy probably knows about this LIBERTY ship stuff.” Bob replied.

“And he might know about Ford's book, why don't we ask him about it.”

“Nawww Bob, leave those old folks alone. They are nice people

and they don't bother anybody, no real reason to bother them.”

Grace butted in and declared. “Read Ford's book Theo and then we'll talk about nice people.”

Theo shot back. “Jeezuz Grace, can we drop this and will you see if my

burger is done yet, I think I ordered it when mastodons roamed the Earth!”

Grace called back to Lasha. “Yo Darkmoon, where's Theo's burger?”

Lasha answered in a tired-bored voice. “It'll be done when it's done,

damn grill takes longer to heat up by the day, give 'em popcorn to shut 'em up.”

Liz always provided baskets of popcorn for her patrons free of charge for years. She knew that

the salt made customers thirsty which meant more drinks were sold. Then she got the idea to charge

50 cents a basket because patrons were eating popcorn like a plague

of locusts and free popcorn probably cut the kitchen revenue down some.

The result was resentment and a general boycott of popcorn.

Liz then noticed a perceptible decrease in the bar sales. So free popcorn was

again available. It's the little things that inspire people to be generous.

Bob looked up from his smart phone and asked, “So Theo, have ya ever heard of

THE PROTOCOLS OF THE LEARNED ELDERS OF ZION?” He read the question slowly to get it right.

“No. Now what are we talking about?”

“Well.” said Bob. “I'm still at this Ford Wikipedia place and it talks about this protocols thing. What are protocols anyway?”

“Protocols are like procedural rules. Like a certain way something must be done,

especially in government or maybe religious ceremonies.” Replied Theo.

“And what's, or where's Zion.”

“Well hell Bob, YOU got the smart phone, look it up.”

“Oh sure. I got it right here. It's that National Park up in Utah, I've even driven by... wait a second.

This other thing says it's the name for the land of Israel. That's probably more like it if Ford has it in his book.”

Theo then suggested to Bob that maybe he should net search THE PROTOCOLS OF THE LEARNED ELDERS OF ZION and see what comes up.

After a long while Bob looked up and announced. “Man, I don't know if they are a... what do they say...

a fabricated anti-Semitic hoax, or a plan for world domination. I guess it's like a book of plans.”

“Enough for now. Gimme a break while I enjoy my lunch will ya Bob.”

Then to Grace, who was pouring a couple of drafts, Theo said,

“Grace dear, I think the ketchup in this squeeze bottle has coagulated, could I please have a fresh one?”

Grace being Grace responded thusly. “Theo dear, can you not see what I'm doin', how

'bout ya un-park yer fat ass from that stool, lean over the bar, an' grab one outta the condiment rack yerself.”
Theo did so and said, “Thank you Grace, I love You.”

She let out a heavy sigh while shaking her head in exaggerated mock exasperation.

By now the last of the lunch bunch had finished leaving the usual mess that Lasha had come out of the kitchen to clean up. The Corona clock next

to the TV, that had only the numeral 4 at all of the hourly positions, indicated that it was a quarter to 3... or a quarter to the numeral 4 in the 3 position.

Lasha deposited the tip money from the tables in the community tip jar by the register. The gals split the tips equally to avoid arguments

that could easily degenerate into cat fights. There's been argumentative exchanges in the past that included such declarations as...

Lasha to Grace: “Oh yeah! Well the only reason you get any tips at all is because you wear those goddam jeans so tight they can see the outline of

your goddam hemorrhoids! And aren't you afraid you are going to accidentally poke a hole in those saline bags of yours and then slip on the wet floor!”

Grace to Lasha: “Oh sit on it bitch! Maybe you'd get a few more quarters if ya didn't look like Jerry Garcia's

Gramma and maybe shaved yer beard more often! And at least I don't smack my boobs with my knees when I walk!”

Those are some of the cleaner witticisms the gals hurl at each other during disputes of any kind.

For the reader's sake, regarding literary dignity and decorum, we'll stop there.

Actually Grace and Lasha are very good friends and there is nothing they wouldn't do for each other, or to each other. They are like sisters. They fight

dirty and savagely at times, but if anyone dares to offend or threaten either one of them they will close ranks and jointly attack the offender with very malicious intent and ability.

3pm was the quiet before the storm time at The Bar. Grace and Lasha had a little time to tidy up before Liz arrived. A few of the 10am arrivals had

had enough and went home to nap or finish drinking themselves into a coma in the comfort and safety of their own homes.

It's true to say that the 10am arrivals were the most responsible of all drinkers. They are almost what you could call

professional drunks. They know their limit lines and never cross them. They know when to cut themselves off, which

was usually when the room began to spin counter-clockwise.

Panteras has no police department nor Sheriff's station, no postal delivery nor garbage pick up. Everyone has a post office box provided for free

to property owners at the tiny Post Office. There's a nominal fee for non-property owners. The County provides large garbage containers in a fenced

designated area away from town known as The Mall. There is no mayor nor city council and no stop lights. As a result, the community runs very

smoothly. There is very little, if any, crime only because the wrath of the heavily armed community is far more of an efficient deterrent to

would-be criminals than a professional police force.

There were tweekers and criminals in the past who simply disappeared, like Liz Dilling's only son who had succumbed

to the attraction of pot smuggling back in the day. In Panteras it is every man for himself and himself at the service of every man.

The elementary school is modern and staffed by qualified teachers. High school kids are bussed to Sierra Vista.

College age kids leave for colleges and universities in cities and are seldom, if ever, seen again.

Panteras, Arizona is not a place anyone moves to for career opportunities, career advancement, or as a springboard for social or

political ambitions. It is a perfect place to move to to get away from all that... particularly those who have reached retirement age.

Ernie Zundel had been manipulating and studying his smart phone all through the events and exchanges of the day. Grace leaned over the bar

and pretended to be looking at his phone and asked. “Whatcha looking at there Ernie, ya haven't added yer two cents all day, ya wanna 'nether Bud?'

Ernie looked up and said to Grace in his Germanic accent. “No, no thang you, et's time to go.” He continued. “I haff been looking at za site zat hass

Henry Fort's bouk. I weesh I know about dis soona.” He got up from his stool, fished a few bills from his shirt pocket and placed them near his empty Bud for Grace.

Grace offered. “Yeah, makes ya think don' it?”

He nodded and ambled out still fixated on his phone.

Ernie seldom, if ever, patronized The Bar during Liz's shift. Liz never actually had said anything to Ernie to offend him. Fact is, she never said anything

to Ernie at all besides, “Wanna 'nether Bud?” He got the distinct impression that she didn't like him, and she didn't. Ernie was a German. Liz held a

very strong opinion that Germans, no matter who, were the dregs of humanity for their alleged atrocities prior to, and especially during, World War II.

No German got a free pass from Liz even though they were born long after the war was over, or happened to actually be a humane and likable individual.

It was the Jew's holocaust narrative that really got her red in the face. She figured that there had to be some genetic defect inherent in Germans to have

perpetrated such a thing.

Ernie had learned that there were more than a few people who thought like Liz in Canada and America. There had been some instances when someone,

who upon being introduced to him or who would overhear him speaking, would flippantly say something such as, “How goes it Adolf” or any other

number of provocative insults. Ernie had to take it as he was always outnumbered... just like the generation before him who fought in the war. There

were a couple of times that the insult was definitely designed to provoke a violent reaction such as, “Hey! FUCK YOU kraut son of a bitch!”

Those hurling such insults were always, of course, amongst a large group of imbibers.

Upon arriving at home, Ernie turned on the computer in his living room, navigated his way to the website that displayed Henry Ford's book in PDF

format and began reading at the beginning of the book on the large screen. He read until 3am when his vision blurred to the point of it being futile to read any further.

CHAPTER 4 – THE (RE) SEARCHERS

Eric had handed off his two books to Charlie Coughlin upon returning to The Bar. Charlie kept the one book that Ozzy had a duplicate of and gave

Ozzy the other book. Ozzy had expressed a desire to read another book on the subject to see if the stories co-related and learn anything that would

further enhance what he already knew. Hank and Theo claimed next in line status.

Ernie wasn't the only one whose curiosity has been piqued to the point of action. Theo also returned home and immediately fired up his computer

to get to the bottom of this LIBERTY issue and Henry Ford's blasphemous book about Jews being a big problem. He felt somewhat defrocked as

an accomplished, authoritative historian and was determined to arm himself with facts, figures and dates in anticipation of what were surely to be

lively debates at The Bar.

There were plenty of on-line websites offering varying opinions about the USS LIBERTY incident. Some of them were seemingly maintained

by what he considered to be neo-Nazis, white supremacists, white nationalists and other such nefarious types. There were also some pro-Israel

sites that dismissed the incident as a typical accident that inevitably occurs because of 'the fog of war'. The Tucson couple's statement about going

right to the source, in the form of hearing the story from those personally involved, seemed like a very good idea.

He found a site titled USS LIBERTY VETERANS ASSOCIATION which looked to him like a good place to begin.

The veterans site contained information and links to related sites that

had even better information and more links to other reputable sites on so on... and on.

After many hours of reading statements by the Captain and crew of the LIBERTY, and statements by high-ranking Admirals etc. Theo became angry

and even more curious. Sure, he naturally became angry because of Israel's ruthless treachery, but he was

more angry at the Americans who assisted the Israelis both during the slaughter and during the cover-up.

Americans that included President Lyndon Johnson, Secretary of State Robert McNamara and

Admiral John McCain (the former Arizona Senator's father).

Theo wondered why on earth would any American, much less the President, Secretary of State and a very high raking Navy admiral sacrifice an

American ship and crew. Then, remembering the Tucson couple's statement about the incident being a means of drawing the U.S.A into an

expanded war, he began wondering about Pearl Harbor... and many other things. Could it be that there actually are psychopaths in the highest

positions of power in America... and elsewhere? He now wished, like Hank, that he hadn't been so hasty to dismiss the Tucson couple as befuddled

fools. It would have been very interesting to know what else they knew. He also regretted his remark about them being ass holes as they exited

The Bar and became mortified to imagine that they had heard the remark. He decided to hit the sack and try to stop his mind from racing,

but try as he did, sleep didn't come till the wee hours of morning.

Eric Blair was also at home. For the first time since he could remember he felt like part of a group, any group, especially the group at The Bar.

He felt like he had not only participated in a meaningful exchange of ideas, but was a significant contributor to an awakening of minds. If the

regular regulars at The Bar would actually read the books that he provided, and if they would only do some homework, then perhaps they would

be interested in other things he knew of but couldn't share for fear of ridicule and further ostracism. He felt a sense of relief that perhaps he

wasn't slowly but surely succumbing to insanity after all.

Eric had no computer, nor any immediate access to one, but he had stacks of boxes and stacks of loose books that resembled a pack rat's dream of a

community library... if there could be such a thing. He went directly to his 'taboo' box of books and went through the contents until he found

what he was searching for. He located two books. One titled, NUREMBERG THE LAST BATTLE by David Irving, the other was titled,

THE LEUCHTER REPORTS by Fred Leuchter.

Eric, after reading and re-reading both books in the past ,was convinced that the Jew's narrative regarding the so called German perpetrated

holocaust was largely a lie of unfathomable proportions, particularly the 'facts' about the homicidal gas chambers; but who in Panteras would be

even passingly interested in hearing anything that he had uncovered on the issue... especially at Liz's Bar. It's more than likely that Liz would 86

him, or anyone else, for life if she got wind of anyone expressing doubts about what she considered unassailable facts. After all, she had seen the

photos of the conditions of the 'death factories' that were liberated near the conclusion of the war and she had seen the convincing TV programs.

As far as she was concerned nothing that appears on television could be anything but the truth, otherwise it wouldn't be on television.

Eric was imagining that maybe he could open the communities' eyes to some hideous reality if he continued to present his stored information.

Maybe he could somehow open the country's eye's. Maybe he could make it a better world if he could wake people up and take action! ...maybe.

It could not be said that Hank Ford's world had been rocked, but it had at least been severely jiggled. What disturbed him the most was a feeling

that he had somehow shirked a sacred duty by having been kept in the dark. Although the crew of the LIBERTY were not shipmates, in fact

far from it, they were fellow members of the United Sates Navy who had been shit on by their government and the United States Navy...

if this all was indeed true. They were fellow comrades in arms and kindred spirits... period. In the Navy everyone sails, fights, sinks or swims together.

TOGETHER! This sort of attitude may be considered old school by contemporary standards, but then, Hank IS old school and proud of it.

He, like Theo, was now determined to get to the very bottom of this USS LIBERTY matter and proceeded exactly as Theo had. He was on a

mission. His wife quickly deduced that he did not want to be distracted in the least while he was going about this

business of his on the computer. When she asked him if he was ready for dinner he responded with a gruff and final “NO”.

He was intently reading information on websites that he previously had no idea existed and he sometimes scribbled furiously on a note

pad before him. Sometimes she would hear him groan and say “Jeezuz H. Christ”, “Unfriggin' believable” or something stronger. Couples who have

been married for long periods of time learn exactly when to and when not to invade each other's space. She didn't dare even ask if

he was coming to bed that night. She fell asleep to the sounds of intermittent clacking on the computer keyboard in the other room.

Both Charlie Coughlin and Ozzy Moseley fell asleep in their favorite easy chairs that night

with the books they were reading falling to the floor. They both had strange dreams.

CHAPTER 5 – HAPPY HOURS

Liz arrived promptly at 3:55 that day as usual. She parked her '74 Ford Galaxy 500 in front of the side door that everyone knew was her inviolate

parking place. There are those who asked her why she didn't get a newer, smaller and more economical automobile and her answer was always,

“Cause if I'm gonna be in a wreck I want some real metal 'round me, them new cars is made a beer cans and plastic milk cartons!” She made a good

point. She made many good points such as whenever she was asked when she was going to retire she'd respond, “Never, 'cause I need a reason to

get outta bed and this joint would go da hell without me!” Or when asked why she never went on a vacation she'd say,

“At my age jus' bein' alive is a vacation, 'b sides, this joint would go da hell without me!”

Grace was always ready to hand over the day-shift cash and receipts, make a report regarding the day's highlights, low points or needed additions

to the stock before retrieving her black leather fringed Harley-Davidson shoulder bag from the storage room. Lasha handed her half of the shift tips

on her way back out through the kitchen. She then took an available stool at the bar to enjoy her shift drink. Sometimes there wouldn't be an available

stool, so she would simply squeeze in between two familiar male patrons who would almost immediately offer her their stool. Not only was this a

matter of good manners, but Grace was known to have knocked patrons off their stools for lack of good manners if she was in the mood... which was often.

Grace reported the buzz the Tucson couple caused regarding the USS LIBERTY, or 'some Navy boat' as she referred to it. Liz had listened while

squinting her eyes and cocking an ear towards Grace but shortly pursed her lips, shook her head and waved her hand to indicate disinterest in

what she considered literal nonsense.

The Happy Hour gang was starting to arrive. The gang consisted mostly of younger working guys and a few gals

who took advantage of the two dollar PBR drafts, two dollars for 10 chicken wings and the free popcorn after work.

The juke box came alive with the varied sounds of classic rock, contemporary Top 40, country from all eras but never any rap.

Liz was a little more than half serious when she advised the jukebox tech-rep that she'd shoot him if he didn't remove the 'rap crap' as she put it.

Hard rock was tolerated but not heavy metal. Liz would always play Sinatra and Nat King Cole for her own pleasure late at night before closing.

She also noticed that the classic crooners had a calming effect on whomever was there when it was nearing the time she preferred to close.

The pool table during happy hour became a constant sound and at least a half dozen players would usually line up their quarters. A couple of

guys regularly brought their own sticks in cases and fancied themselves to be hot shots... and sometimes they were. Most players used the

house sticks selected from the rack on the wall. Considerable stick rolling on the table was the method used to determine which stick was

the least warped. Alcohol always seemed to be a detrimental factor affecting pool skills as the evening wore on. In fact, alcohol became a

detrimental factor affecting some people's ability to stand or speak. Gravity evidently became much stronger later at night in various areas of The Bar.

As the evening wore on some patrons dropped things and caught themselves before falling... if they didn't fall down altogether.

Falling down in The Bar was no real sin, after all, who hasn't fallen down in a bar. But those who fell twice, or more, were asked to leave... and

they would, only to encounter much stronger gravity outside around the porch where the two stair-steps lead to the parking lot. It had been

suggested to Liz that perhaps a ramp, instead of steps, would be a more humane way to come and go. Liz responded thusly, “If someone stumbles

er falls comin' in 'cause of them stairs, then I'll know ta keep an eye on 'em. Iffen they stumble er fall goin' out, then that ain't none a my concern.”

One regular pool player worthy of mention at this point is Nesta Webster. Nesta is another cowgal biker type whose story is similar to Ursie Haverbeck's.

She was born and raised on a poultry ranch North of Bisbee. When she reached the legal emancipation age

of 18 she moved off of 'that noisy goddam chicken asylum' as she refers to it and moved to Bisbee.

She didn't last a year in Bisbee because of all the 'goddam commie hippies, lesbos and fags' as she refers to many of the residents.

Bisbee had been a very prosperous mining town until the mine closed in 1985. It was the most productive copper mine in Arizona for a hundred years.

It was, and is once again, like a mini-San Francisco nestled in the hills with dreadfully steep streets and sidewalks... only without the ocean and

skyscrapers. Bisbee fell into pitiful decline and was all but abandoned after the Copper Queen Mine closure. Then the hippies and alternative lifestyle

types moved in attracted by the below bargain basement house and commercial property prices. In a sense, San Francisco's Haight Ashbury district

expanded to Bisbee. The town is once again thriving. You'll see nothing else but restored Victorian architecture not only downtown, but everywhere

else in the vicinity. Being there today is very much like being there over a hundred years ago... especially at night.

There are more than a few haunted buildings where even the staunchest of non-believers claim to have felt a presence... or not.

Nesta was blessed, or cursed, with looks very much like Dolly Parton's. Only it's much more of a hard-case look rather than a friendly look. When she

does smile, which is seldom, it could be said that she lights up the room... and it is said. Nesta Webster is very aware of the affect she has on men and

enjoys the attention. She encourages the attention by routinely wearing tight buttoned shirts with the top half of the buttons undone semi-revealing

enormous breasts that defy gravity and appear to be near the point of explosion. Or she wears a tight T-shirt that is cut in front from the top of the neck

line to the bottom of her breast bulge. Wrangler jeans with a wide black silver studded belt adds to her attractiveness. When she bends over to make

a shot at the pool table, factoring in both breasts and buttocks, every man in the room while ogling either hopes that she misses so the

game will continue indefinitely, or they hope she makes the shot and ultimately wins the game so she can play another.

Ursie Haverbeck, for no apparent reason, once asked Liz why she tolerates 'that whore' being in her bar. Liz replied,

“Cause it's a free country an 'b sides, shes more of a draw and a hell ova lot more entertaining then them goddam bands I had in here.”

Liz was once inspired by the locals to have some live music on Saturday nights. She gave it a shot. The first band was from Bisbee where

every other resident is a musician of one kind or another. The pool table would be tipped up on a dolly and moved to the store room for the

evening to make room for the band and dancing. The juke box was rolled to the store room as well. Sad to say things started out on the

wrong foot, or feet, and went downhill from there.

The first band hired was the one that Lasha had strongly lobbied for. They sounded like a cross between the Grateful Dead on heroin and an auto body

repair shop... only worse. When they arrived to set up both they and their gear smelled like patchouli oil, body odor and pot. The unfamiliar songs they

played were all fifteen minutes long, more or less. Anyone attempting to dance during a song grew weary after ten minutes and quit... for good.

There was no rapport with the audience, in fact, the three musicians that stood usually had their backs to the audience. They were too loud, incorporated

no volume dynamics at all and evidently could only play in one key. The alleged harmonica player's harmonica was not the compatible key to the

other instruments. I could continue, but in summation, they stunk literally and musically without any redeeming quality at all besides expressing

gratitude for the half-pay Liz gave them when she fired them after only an hour's work. The remaining patrons called up the patrons

who had left to tell them that the band was packing up. Most of the patrons who had bailed returned and the night was salvaged.

To her credit, Liz assumed all responsibility for the debacle. She blamed herself for taking the word of a 'psychedelic parasite'

like Lasha in the first place and forthwith determined that she would go to see a band herself before hiring it... and she did.

The second attempt at live music didn't go much better... actually much worse. The band consisted entirely of soldiers stationed at Fort Huachuca

who all had some professional musical experience prior to their enlistment. They were now musical hobbyists who had gotten together for like minded

camaraderie, a little extra spending money and some fun. They played classic rock and a little classic

country that was perfect for The Bar patrons. Liz agreed to allow them to run a bar tab as part of the deal.

The band brought with them a half dozen fellow soldiers who were supposedly their manager, road manager, sound man and roadies making it a

total of eleven guys running up the bar tab. Liz assumed correctly that it would be an eventful night so she had Ursie on duty as bar back

and Lasha in the kitchen pulling an eleven hour shift.

The first two hours went splendidly. The band was good and they controlled their sounds and volume well. The members of their entourage

were friendly and enjoyed themselves dancing and buying expensive drinks for themselves and the locals... that went on the tab. The third

hour started to turn a bit dark due to misunderstandings between the locals and the soldiers regarding respect for the institution of marriage,

who was whose girlfriend, where hands were being placed during dances, and no meaning no. Then all hell broke loose near the end of

the final hour of the festivities.

Liz informed the band, and their entourage, that their tab now exceeded their guaranteed fee for performing and they would be required to pay cash

or open a credit card to continue being served. The band's intoxicated 'road manager' became extremely indignant claiming the band had generated

a million dollars in revenue so the fee had just been increased by an amount that would cover further tab use. When Ursie called “bullshit!”

the 'road manager' advised Ursie to “butt out lard ass”' and... it was ON!

Although the otherwise honorable men of our Armed Forces fought bravely, they were far outnumbered and had no weaponry to speak of

other than musical equipment. Ursie luckily failed in her attempts to castrate her primary foe due to the confusing mayhem and was knocked

senseless by a well swung Fender acoustic guitar. Shots were fired into the ceiling causing a tactical retreat by the bloodied soldiers who dragged

the unconscious drummer and 'sound man' with them out the front door. The entire squad fell all over each other while attempting to negotiate

the two steps down to their vehicles in the parking lot. The victorious patrons hurled vicious insults, and all of the

band's gear, out the front door. The Sheriff was called who assured the caller that a deputy would be there in the morning.

Damage to The Bar, besides the broken bottles and glasses, was minimal only because most everything that could be broken had

previously been broken already. It was good that the front door opened out, not in, otherwise the soldiers probably would have further suffered.

The third and final attempt at live music ended when the band from Tucson was a no show. The jukebox saved the evening.

Meshell Partridge was not only a part time employee but also a frequent evening patron at The Bar. She had picked up more part time work

as a house cleaner for some of the elderly widows in town and performed some custodial and lunch preparation duties at the elementary school.

Liz indefinitely loaned her the pick up truck her son had owned and Meshell rented a guest house behind one of the widow's homes. Liz and

Meshell had discussed possibly keeping the kitchen open until closing with Meshell as the 'Nawlins Style' cook. She was making friends and

her being an African American woman did not seem to be any issue with anyone at all. People are usually only

intimidated by numbers and if your number is only one, then you aren't intimidating as a racial entity... even if you wanted to be.

Life was good for Meshell Partridge in Panteras. She began thinking that she might stay for the duration.

Monika Shaefer is also a frequent evening patron who is the music instructor and band director at the elementary school. She had become a

widow at thirty-five when her husband was struck by a car while crossing a busy street in Tucson in broad daylight. She had previously been a

music instructor at one of the many Tucson high schools and is still an in-demand freelance violin, or fiddle if you like, player who is well

respected in the Tucson music scene. Being a petite and pretty blond with a slim figure and a ready smile is a plus in the entertainment business.

After hearing about the teaching position in Panteras, which is a place she hadn't heard of, she drove down and applied for the position. Being

over-qualified and having to accept a drastic cut in salary was not a problem. She no longer trusts big cities and the idea of working with younger

kids appealed to her. After teaching high school age kids for awhile her opinion of them was not generally positive. She didn't think that the

'time out' generation was amounting to anything but a cult of brats.

Monika and Meshell got to know and like each other at the school and are now often seen together. They are known as the M&M's.

Jimmy Traficant and Jim Forrestal work together as house painters and painters of anything else that anyone wants painted. They have business

cards that read JIMMY JIM'S PAINTING CO., a phone number and an email. A likeness of their card is painted on the doors of their work truck.

They've known each other since they were preschoolers. Because they are both named James, one needed to become Jim and the other became

Jimmy to make a difference. A game of rock-scissors-paper decided the matter, best two out of three. Neither boy felt like he lost or won, it just

needed to be decided. Both are married to women who can't stand one another for some forgotten reasons. Some people are grudge-holders,

others aren't. Jim and Jimmy are regular regulars at The Bar for the 4pm Happy Hour. Sometimes they are at The Bar for coffee and Kahlua in

the morning. Jimmy has two daughters in high school while Jim has two sons at the same school. Some people like to think that the kids

will marry each other someday, it just makes sense to them.

Leon DeGrelle is a U.S. Customs & Border Protection Officer attached to the Naco, Arizona Office. He and his wife live on a ten acre ranchette

near Panteras with their three daughters who are all horse lovers and accomplished competitive Junior Rodeo Association barrel racers. Leon

often stops in at The Bar in uniform during Happy Hour to enjoy a couple of beers on his way home. He and Liz enjoy chatting with each

other and see eye to eye on virtually every issue imaginable. At home he is incessantly water-boarded by four females who mostly hold

strong opinions contrary to his about... everything! Leon's Grandfather fought for Germany during WWII as a member of the Belgian

SS-Freiwilligen-Sturmbrigade-Wallonien Division. His father immigrated to the U.S. from Belgium in 1961and never mentioned

to anyone his fathers service in a German SS Division comprised of Belgian, French and Spanish Nationals. Such men were

considered traitors.

In fact, 40% of the German SS Divisions were comprised of non-Germans. There was the Ukrainian SS Galacia Division,

the Scandinavian Viking SS Division, the Spanish Blaue SS Division, the Hungarian Gombos SS Division, the British Frei Korps, etc.

The last Waffen SS Units to hold out defending Hitler's Berlin bunker were comprised entirely

of Frenchmen of the 33^rd Waffen Grenadier Division of the SS Charlamange or 1^st French Division.

Leon knew about these things and found it odd that virtually no one else knew. But then, he knew

that much of the actual events of WWII were either purposely omitted or contrived to fit a preferred narrative.

Another man in uniform who often stopped in for a bite to eat either at noon or 5pm was Deputy Bob Bitker of the Cochise County Sheriff's

Department headquartered in Bisbee. Bob lived in nearby Hereford with his elderly mother. He was divorced, had no kids, his father died years

ago, his mother didn't drive, she had a large house on an acre, so it was a good fit they they should live together. He helped her by being her

chauffeur, gardener, handy man, protector, etc. and she provided him with free room and board. A win-win for both. A perk Bob enjoyed was

the use of his Sheriff's Department cruiser for commuting to and from headquarters besides using it on duty. Liz considered it a plus to have a

Sheriff's cruiser parked in her lot with a uniformed Deputy enjoying a hearty snack at one of the tables inside. It was a reminder to the locals that

although there was no official law enforcement presence in Panteras, there indeed was an unofficial one.

Bob gave his private phone number to Liz just in case.

Bob wasn't around when the band of soldiers caused the Saturday night riot some years ago or he would have gotten there before morning.

At that time he was a Marine in Iraq attached to the Special Purpose Marine Air-Ground Task Forces Crisis Command –

Central Command that was based in Kuwait. Bob Bitker was far from being a Mama's Boy and anyone who knew that he lived with his mother knew it.

Leon DeGrelle and Bob Bitker knew and liked each other and sometimes arranged to meet at The Bar when off duty to do some drinking and

socializing dressed in civies. Even out of uniform both men had the clean cut look and bearing of law enforcement officers. All of the locals

knew who both men were and were at ease in the presence of both men and liked them for their easy going mannerisms when in or out of uniform.

Both men were non-judgmental nor prejudiced, or if they were they hid it well.

There was a recent incident when both Leon and Bob were at The Bar enjoying their day off on a Saturday afternoon, sharing a pitcher of PBR

while watching a NASCAR race on the TV. The M&M's were also there along with Jimmy Traficante, Hank Ford, Bob Edmundson, Ozzy Moseley,

and a few of the local Mexicans.

In walked three young ladies all of varying degrees of attractiveness. They looked to

be college girls to the patrons although they were actually older... but not by much.

The girls seated themselves at a table and seemed unsure of what to do about ordering something. Ursie was on duty with Lasha in the kitchen.

Ursie saw the girls come in and knew they weren't locals. Ursie sees everything that goes on in 'her bar' when she's on duty. The girls were

uniformly dressed like bird watchers who were sometimes seen in the area. They wore Army style 'boonie' hats,

long sleeved-collared white cotton shirts, utility Bermuda shorts and low cut hiking boots with low cut socks.

Ursie came to the front of the bar and called over to the new arrivals. “Welcome ladies, what can I getcha?”

One of the girls got up, approached the bar and asked Ursie if she had iced tea and some menus.

“You betcha, how many iced teas?”

The girl ordered three iced teas – no lemon, no sugar with lots of ice, took the menus that Ursie extended to her and returned to the table. A few

minutes after placing the iced tea order with Lasha, Ursie took the drinks on a tray over to the girl's table, served the drinks and asked if they

had decided on something to eat. They inquired about veggie burgers or meat-less tacos. Ursie suggested bean burros or maybe a salad.

They all settled on dinner salads with no dressing.

“Coming right up.” Ursie announced. She rolled her eyes and then crossed them for anyone to see as she walked

back behind the bar. There were a few knowing smiles on some of the patron's faces who overheard the exchange.

When the salads were ready Ursie served them to the girl's and offhandedly inquired. “Where ya gals from?”

The girl who seemed to be the leader who ordered the teas answered.

“We live in Tucson, but we spend a lot of time in Arivaca.”

Ursie said. “I've heard of Arivaca, but where exactly is it?”

Leon, who like everyone else, could plainly hear the conversation spoke up.

“It's about sixty miles South West of Tucson about twelve miles from the border.”

The leader of the girl's said. “That's correct Sir, have you been there?”

“Sure.” Answered Leon. “I've been to a whole lot of places along the

border from San Diego to Brownsville, Texas. What do you gals do in Arivaca?”

The leader answered, “We are volunteers for NO MORE DEATHS.”

Leon froze for a moment. Ursie inquired. “So what's NO MORE DEATHS?”

The leader answered, “We are a group of volunteers who assist immigrants that are coming

to America for a better life and to escaped violence and persecution in other countries.”

“Is that so?” responded Ursie. “And how do ya assist the immigrants, and do ya mean ILLEGAL immigrants?”

The leader continued by first ignoring Ursie's reference to illegal immigrants and explained their activities as though her indoctrination had been thorough.

“We maintain a year-round humanitarian presence in the remote desert areas in the Southwestern border area where migration has been pushed, where

people are walking North up to 80 miles. We drive and hike to remote locations and leave water, food, socks, blankets and other useful supplies for

immigrants. Our medical team provides treatment for any individuals in distress.” She wasn't finished yet and continued. “In Northern Sonora we provide

phone calls and first aid to abused deportees and Northbound migrants. We provide a check cashing service for those deported with un-cashable

prison checks. To those planning to cross the desert we provide useful items and advice regarding legal assistance, transportation and lodging.”

When the leader was finished with her speech, Ursie, who was becoming beet-red in the face, looked from the one girl to another.

They all had their slightly nodding heads cocked slightly higher and they were wearing smug smiles of prideful agreement.

Before Ursie had a chance to explode, Leon cut in to ask a question somewhat loudly and purposely saying. “Has it ever occurred to you ladies

that YOU are putting these ILLEGAL immigrant's lives at risk by ENCOURAGING ILLEGAL IMMIGRATION by

performing all of your activities, and that YOU are directly responsible for the deaths of some of those ILLEGAL IMMIGRANTS?”

One of the other girls, now armed with righteous indignity, stood for effect and responded. “Sir, no human is illegal. We are not the problem we are

the solution. If it wasn't for the racist policies of WHITE MEN there would be no border. We are all God's children endowed

with the inherent right to live anywhere on Earth we please. YOU PEOPLE are the cause of all the suffering and death!”

She then looked directly at the three Mexicans sitting together at the bar taking the whole exchange in and asked.

“Don't at least YOU gentlemen agree?”

It was George Marival who spoke up first saying. “Hey man, I was born here and don't agree with you at all! Salvador here came here LEGALLY

by going through the citizenship process LEGALLY! If there were no border do you know how much drugs and gang-trash would be here? Do you

know that there would be more people here than there are in China and fools like you would be the first to start crying about how crowded it is! NO!

I don't agree with you. It's bad enough that these wetbacks take jobs from people born here –

they work under the table – and suck up my tax money that gives them shit that I don't even get!”

Armando was by then inspired to speak his piece by addressing the still standing girl adding. “Man, don' you know tha' ween you gif ILLEGALS

all uf da sheet you gave to them they call to Mexico or Honduras or Guatemala or whadever and say 'hey man, get up here man, the gringos

we'll take good care of you and give you everthin'- jus' start walkin' man!' ...No fool, es YOU that help to kill the people... serio! I know!”

The standing girl melted into her chair fighting the urge to cry by biting her lower lip, which had to hurt and

further aggravate the urge to cry. She had attempted to gather allies to their cause... but failed miserably.

The leader, who was also repressing the urge to cry out of indignant anger, then stood

up and began by saying in a very whinny tone. “How can YOU PEOPLE be so mean? Why do...”

Ursie, who had stepped back to enable George and Armando to better see whom they

were talking to, exploded in a very loud and furious voice, “GET THE FUCK OUT NOW!”

The girls recoiled in unison from Ursie out of abject fear. They all plainly got the message and knew full well that any further statements could lead

to a physical assault of the worst sort. They immediately commenced a rapid exit while simultaneously losing their ability to stifle their urge to cry.

Ursie called after them. “GET THE FUCK OUT AND IF YOU NEVER COME BACK IT'LL BE TOO SOON!” She continued to

vehemently vent. “I OUGHTTA TAKE CARE OF YOUR STUPID ASS LIBTARD COMMIE ASSES RIGHT HERE RIGHT NOW!

At this point it was Bob Bitker who spoke up loudly, “URSIE!... ENOUGH!”

Ursie shot a malevolent glare at Bob and froze, knowing instantly that he meant what he had just said and he could certainly back it up.

Bob then added in a calmer tone of voice. “They are leaving and we will let 'em go. I think everyone's point has been made here.”

Ursie, while still looking at Bob, only with a calmer expression on her face, took a deep breath, held it and then fully exhaled. Of course Bob was right.

It was time to simmer down and get back to work. She got busy clearing the glasses of tea and bowls of salad from the table in front of her.

It was then that Lasha appeared in the kitchen doorway with her head tilted a little forward and downward with her eyebrows raised

to maximum height. She looked slowly around at everyone and finally said. “Wow.” Which was all that really needed to be said.

George inquired. “Yo Ursie, those girls didn't pay for their lunch did they?”

“Nawww, I'll pay for it, damm fools. It's worth it just to have seen their cutsie asses walking away fast.”

George was lost in thought for a moment and then said. “No, I want to pay for

it and please don't try to rob me of the pleasure of doing something nice for you.”

Ursie felt pleasantly trapped by what George had said. She looked at him with a blank expression while thinking

it the rest of the way through. It was an offer she couldn't refuse and then she replied simply, “thanks George.”

George paid the NO DEATH'S girl's bill, but Ursie got even with him when it was time for the three Mexicans' next round. Ursie filled three cold

fresh glasses with Bud. She also filled a pitcher. She placed the glasses of Bud in front of them, turned around to get the pitcher and set it before George

and said. “That's all on me George and please don't try to rob me of the pleasure of doing something nice for you guys.” She winked and carried on with her chores.

All three Mexicans lifted their glasses towards Ursie and George said, “Saulud Amiga.”

Most of the other patrons at the bar also lifted their glasses while saying “Salud.”