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Western Carolinian Volume 61 Number 04 (05)

items 17 of 36 items

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Item 1 - Western Carolinian Volume 61 Number 04 (05)

Western Carolinian Volume 61 Number 04 (05)

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Item

Details
- Format
  - Publications (documents)
- Type
  - Text
- Source institution
  - Western Carolina University
- Identifier
  - HL_WesternCarolinian_1995-09-21_Vol61_No04_IA08
Transcript

09.21.95 invisible academy "Inside Hand" continued from 7 crime. I mean, I thought he was hurt so I called an ambulance, not the cavalry. I ran downstairs to check on him and he was gone. The lady in apartment one said he had ran around the corner of the building." "The cavalry," he said sarcastically, "is part of the 911 package. And—" "Where's the body, Roger?" The other officer joined us, cutting his partner off. He was much older; looked about ten years past retirement, but I still wouldn't want to tangle with him. His face was neither cocky nor friendly, but at least he was smiling. "Mr. Wolf here says he's gone. Seems his friend, a mister Jim Tackett, flew out his kitchen window and fell on his head, then got up and tried a more normal method of locomotion." He laughed and started drumming a slow rhythm on his clipboard with a pencil. He looked real proud, as though we were even about the cavalry remark. "I'm Detective Higgins, Mr. Wolf. Maybe you'd better show us where the alleged accident took place." These guys were the most dangerous kind of policemen: bored ones. Jim fell out of a window and they immediately label it a crime and look for bodies. I called for an ambulance and got Hill Street Blues. Higgins put a firm gray hand on my shoulder and nudged me toward the front door while his rumpled buddy corralled me from the other side. I felt like a quarterback running a bootleg, but I'd dropped the ball and was about to get creamed anyway. Before I knew it we were on the third floor landing. There wasn't a single door open on the way up, but you could be sure every peephole had an eager eyeball pressed to it. I opened the front door and we walked into the living room. Higgins nudged one of my boxes with his foot. Chase had a smirk on his face that got bigger by the second. "Hey listen," I said, "forget it, I'm not going to file the report. Jim's probably hurt and gone to the emergency room or to his house or something. Let me go find him and I'll get back with you guys." "Well," Higgins said slowly, looking around the room, "since we're up here anyway, how about we look around a little?" "Sure, I guess," I said. "I've got nothing to hide." Chase opened the flap of a box and peeked inside. "Let me get this straight, Mr. Wart. Your buddy falls out the window, you think he's dead, call 911 and then when you go down to help him, he's gone. We drive all the way out here and we're just supposed to forget about it? Were you guys drinking? You're drunk right? You think this is a funny joke and we ain't got nothing better to do than play along. It's called filing a false report Mr. Wart." I started regretting the cavalry remark. "Well, I'm not filing it now. And the name's Wolf, not Wart. Let me go find him and then I'll get him to back me up." Higgins just stood there, and every now and then rocked back and forth on his heels. Chase kept rummaging around. He walked down the hallway and stared at the closed bedroom doors. He" slapped the padlock on the second bedroom and it rattled loudly in the hinge. "How long you lived here Mr. Wolf," he asked. "A little over six months," I said, and waved my arm around the room. "It takes a long time for me to settle down." "Settle down! You mean settle in, don't vou?" Higgins said, and laughed. He. was staring at my open briefcase. "You carry a lot of work home, Mr. Wolf?" "Yeah, keeping up with computers takes a lot of extra reading," I said as I edged closer to trie case, debating whether or not to close it. I bumped the box it was sitting on and the lid slammed shut. "So, where was Mr. Tackett when he fell," Higgins asked. I stared at the briefcase wondering if I'd made a big mistake closing it. "Mr. Wolf," he repeated, "exactly which window did your friend fall out of?" "In the kitchen, detective. There's only one." He walked in the kitchen, rearranged the dirty frying pan sitting on the stove, and looked at his hand a minute. He ran some tap water to rinse it off. He opened the refrigerator" door and moved the beer bottles around. "Killian Red, expensive stuff. I like Beck's myself, if I'm going to drink an imported beer. Killian's brewed in Milwaukee. Did you know that, Mr. Wolf? It's not even a foreign beer, though most people think it is. Beck's is made in Germany," and he turned around to smile at me, for the first time. "Good stuff." He finally looked at the window, and asked, "So this is the window the alleged friend fell out of?" I'd had about enough of this character. First he insults my apartment, then my beer, and now my friend. 'The friend's not alleged, Detective, and neither is his fall out of the window. But since it's the only one in the room, I figure a guy of your experience could figure that out. Like I told you, what's really alleged," I placed emphasis on the word, "is whether or not he's dead. Obviously he's not, since he walked away. Jim's a big one for jokes and this looks like a classic one he's played on me." Detective Higgin's smile widened considerably. I didn't know why. I was pretty pissed and being grinned at wasn't helping matters. "Like I said," I repeated, "he pulled a big one on me. If not, he's got a concussion, you know? So let me go try to find him and see what's going on. I'll get right back to you, I promise." I was getting desperate, but about that time his sidekick sauntered into the crowded kitchen. I figured he'd been sniffing around the bathroom while Higgins detracted me. His walkie talkie was buzzing, 'Thirteen? Are you 10-6?" "Yeah," he said, "We're 10-6. Another ten minutes and we'll respond." "What's that, Roger?" Higgins asked. "We've got a call on an armed robbery in progress at Fuddruckers on Charlotte. I told 'em we'd be there in ten or fifteen." Detective Higgins walked over and rubbed his finger on the counter at the opposite end of where Jim had eaten his last meal. I figured some guy with a .45 at Fuddruckers was probably having a great time munching on free burgers and picking off tourists strolling down Charlotte street. Higgins walked over to the kitchen window and stuck his head outside while he was talking. "Filing a false police report is a misdemeanor, Mr. Wolf," he paused and cleared his throat. 'This is a nice view. About all we could do is take you downtown and put you in the holding pen for awhile with your various Asheville pimps, druggies, and perverts. The Sergeant would yell at us because the charge would waste the court's time, then we'd apologize and let you go. It'd take four, five hours at the least. Maybe all night," he paused and leaned further out the window. "Nice back yard. Keep us posted, Mr. Wolf, on what you find out about your alleged friend's alleged disappearance." He pulled his head back inside the kitchen. Higgins seemed pleased with his speech. He took a deep breath, scratched his ear. He turned around and his face was mottled a pale red from the cool air. "Inside Hand" continued on 9 Bryan Carter Untitled There shall come a day When all of life will have been found Its truer meanings When all the teardrops shed in lonely bedrooms And whisky bottles Will all gather in a stream That runs through the course Of your veins And recycle in time With no words spoken With no chance for complete understanding To occur. Yet what is understanding Is it the light that we shut from our eyes When our stubborn brain acknowledges something we cannot explain; An admission of our own limitations Is to understand a subjective awareness of how something can be suited for our individual tastes The day men learn to understand Will be the day that the same men will breathe their last; Death is the ultimate lesson accomplished; How well we faced the test is just the prelude to epiphany. Thinking in Psychology Class Where are We when brothers radiant come home to little sisters hiding under baby-quilts with balding heads Where are We when our tires scream entering our homes, we are splattered across roads in awful comicness Where are We when our willpower becomes strangled by a ghastly pain under rib We fight for the right to say goodbye Where are We when people become rich carting our dead from cess streets hiding gloom hatred and raping ideals Where are We when log trucks rumble large back streets toward youthful Love-Child racing homeward—racing toward destiny Where are We when our mouths become greasy giving 12-guage blow-jobs Wishing for courage to end it Where are we as we stand talking laughing chatting with people soon to drain our blood making room for preservatives Where are we as we hold mothers warm loving once now cold sharp boardlike and agonized at loss. Where are we when we shop crematoriums funeral homes for the perfect coffin peace in which we stink rot wrinkle Are we alive? ARE WE ALIVE?

Object

Description

The Western Carolinian is Western Carolina University's student-run newspaper. The paper was published as the Cullowhee Yodel from 1924 to 1931 before changing its name to The Western Carolinian in 1933.
Details
- Creator
  - Western Carolina University
- Format
  - Publications (documents)
- Type
  - Text
- Date
  - Date original: 1995-09-21
  - Date digitized: 2019-11-19
- Extent
  - Dimension: 14" x 11.25"
  - Pages: 36 pages
- Subject - Topic
- Location
  - Jackson County (N.C.)
  - Cullowhee (N.C.)
- Source institution
  - Western Carolina University
- Source Collection
  - WCU Students Newspapers Collection
- Identifier
  - HL_WesternCarolinian_1995-09-21_Vol61_No04
- Repository
  - Western Carolina University Hunter Library

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