The Death and Birth and Death of a Legend By Bob Spence

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Goober liked to be busy. Some people could handle doing nothing, not Goober Walton. Running the tidy but ancient gasoline concession suited. Suited well. It was orderly and everything clearly had its place. Some would say it looked almost military in its order and for that it was. Goober had left the Marines only some two years before after 15 years of proud commitment.

The GI Bill gave him an education, a lump sum of cash and now a sense of purpose in running the small business he took much pride in. He did everything and today was the attendant whilst his daughter Lou sat in the glass fronted lean-to with the cash register. Out the front was a wizened mechanic who sat out on canvas chair taking a break from changing the break pads on a Buick. Bud was a man with a reputation that he could fix anything. An ex-tanker with Patton, Bud was able to deliver on time, on budget and could do a diagnostic on an engine just by listening. Bud had nothing to say and often said it. He and Goober were satisfied with each other and with what they did and how they did it. Life was good.

A burr of noise scorched through the air. An angry whirr that was pitched high and violent. A squat silver sports car pulled aggressively across the forecourt. With abruptness it drew alongside the trio of weary but clean looking pumps. A tall and lean man in his mid to late twenties popped out of the left hand bucket seat of the racer and then strolled swaying from side to side stretching his legs.

"Fill her up." Goober was clad in a bleached white overall and a bead of sweat dribbled down the side of his sun-scorched face. Goober watched impassively. "Nice looking car." "She is a little German princess and she's real gone...yeah man, she sure is real gone." The attendant nodded as if this slice of cryptic dialogue actually made some sense. "Sure."

The car has a 15 painted on the side. It was a race prepared predator. A bottle of coke was held in one hand while the other moved a pair of Rayban sunglasses from the bridge of a sun burnt nose and onto the plume of blonde hair piled back. The driver was preening himself. It was all about generations. The forecourt attendant had completed a very action packed tour of duty in Korea some years before he did not and could not comprehend for one moment the confusing conduct of the young man.

So instead the attendant focused on the gasoline flowing into the wasp like waist of the squat speedster. "Where are you off to with this?" "Well. What with two new carburetors and what with the transmission upgraded, we are going to break this little lady in. We sure are going to show her who is the boss." The fumes of the gasoline hung over the vehicle. "That's 7 dollars fifty." The passenger was engrossed in a map. "Hey. If we take her down Highway 164 we should have a stretch of 5 miles to see if the Webbers really rock before we hit the Ohio state intersect." Bud spat into the asphalt. "You won't get that far, not with this."

Continued ...next page

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