Going Down The Road

Well, we knew we had to do something, but we didn't know what. A regular back seat out of a car wouldn't fit there, nor would the two lawn chairs that we'd borrowed out of a front yard in San Saba. If the mother of invention is necessity, then I suppose it was that mother that caused us to steal the bench out of the Greyhound bus station in Amarillo.

We didn't go to Amarillo to deliberately steal a bench. We had gone there for an RCA rodeo, a happenstance that came about because we couldn't find any independent rodeos to poach on. Naturally we didn't win a cent. But a Texas beer company was putting on a rodeo promotion and they had free beer and hot dogs for all the contestants after the show. That solved the problem of supper and the night's entertainment.

But it was good and late when we pulled away from the rodeo arena heading for Breckenridge. We had to go through town on the way out. Jack and Billy Jack were in the back on the camp stools, having a good deal more trouble staying mounted than usual because of the cargo of beer they'd taken on. Player was driving and J.B. was sitting in the middle acting like he was one of the grown-ups. We stopped at a light and I happened to glance over at the bus station, which was on the corner. I could see right into the lobby and in that instant the mother of invention raised her head. I told Player to back up to the curb.

"What for?" he asked me.

"I got an idea," I said. "Just do it."

We parked and I outlined what I had in mind. Everybody turned around and craned their necks to see into the lobby. It was deserted. We could make out a ticket agent and a real ugly girl behind the lunch counter and what appeared to be an old, old Indian sitting against a far wall.

Player was enthusiastic about the idea, Jack and Billy Jack less so because it was taking them so long to understand what we were going to do. J.B. just folded his arms and flatly declared he'd have nothing to do with it. He said, "I ain't stealing no property from the Greyhound Bus Company. You never heard of them interstate laws? It's a Federal offense is what it is. I would just as soon steal from the Mrs. Baird's Bread Company."

But we didn't need him anyway. We explained to Jack and Billy Jack what they were supposed to do and then Player and I went on in the bus station. It was as deserted as it had looked from outside, just the ticket agent, the girl and the old Indian against the wall. Player headed for the ticket agent and I went to the lunch counter. Our objective was to maintain as much eye contact with our targets as we could in order to keep them from noticing what was happening with one of the bus company's benches. Player handled the ticket agent by asking him for a route to some unorthodox place like Glendive, Montana, and I concentrated on this remarkably ugly girl. She had pimples and thick glasses and an overbite, but I went up and sat down on a stool and ordered a cup of coffee and told her I thought I was in love.

Meanwhile, behind us Billy Jack and Jack had come in and each had taken an end of the bench and they were busy carrying it out the door. Out of the corner of my eye I could follow their progress by the old Indian. As they went toward the door his head slowly turned to follow them, his face expressionless. When they were clear he returned his head to its original position and resumed staring into space.

Player then told the ticket agent he'd changed his mind, that he was going to bed instead of Glendive, and I told the girl I'd just remembered I was married and we got the hell out of there.