Apple of Success: The Super Bowl
Rhonda
It wasn’t easy to schedule a wedding and honeymoon. Emilia brought in a wedding planner and we settled on a date with all the headaches a wedding with over two thousand guests would entail.
I did a lot of green screen time to make it look like I was in Rugby. My idea was becoming real and I’m not just a pretty face. The company jet flew us to turn it into reality.
Day 1: The entourage landed in Minot where the big hero’s welcome was staged. There were people from a hundred miles around screaming and acting crazy. The president of Minot State presented me with a distinguished alumni award.
The sixty-five-mile drive to Rugby was in a limo with a woman around my age across from me filming my reaction. Emilia was the only other one present.
The last ten miles people were lining both sides of the road waving banners with my face and the caption WE LOVE OUR RHONDA on them. I waved through the fogged window. It was ten degrees below zero! There has to be an easier way for a chance at being in a super bowl commercial, people!
SB&T rented every motel room in the town, which still wasn’t enough, and some wound up staying in Minot having to commute on the icy road. A snowstorm hit that night burying everything four inches of white.
I wanted to spend the night in my own room, but the film crew was set up for the next day and the house was empty overnight. Terry and I stayed in the Cobblestone Inn. Strange how giving a belly dance in the courtyard led to this. Mom and Daddy were in the adjoining room where we sat and talked until midnight.
Day 2: Mom put the prepared dinner in the oven to warm up and they filmed as I helped her set the table. We chatted about what was happening in the town. She asked me questions about New York and what Europe was like. The director was ecstatic.
All of the family around the table, Daddy led us in prayer. After a few bites the camera crew started packing and heading to the high school. Mom started cleaning and I helped her. It felt normal again.
Day 3: I was back in my classroom filled with former students. I couldn’t help but cry as I hugged every one of them. They all grew so big in such a short time. I posed proudly at the artist’s sketch of the new school that would replace this one in a few years.
Then it was to the high school for a pep rally and my prepared speech thanking all of the people there for wishing me well.
Terry thoughtfully gave me hunting ear plugs before going in. The band was playing, cheer leaders doing their routines, and everyone in the stands was waving my banner.
Mrs. Cranston, my 9th grade algebra teacher, now the principal did a commendable job of quieting the crowd, thanking SB&T for filming the commercial here and then said, “Zach Duncan and I went to the prom together. And even after he dumped me for Shonda who I roomed with in college; I’ve voted for him three times.”
There was laughter and applause. When things quieted down. “Rhonda was the brightest pupil I ever had the privilege to teach in the twenty years I taught mathematics. In a way I feel she’s like my own daughter, as does the whole town of Rugby.”
Turning to look at me, “We are all so proud of you and your accomplishments.” Turning back around, “Let’s give our favored daughter a warm welcome home.”
The crowd erupted. I could see all my students with their parents in chairs on the floor. Emelia, Mom and Daddy were with me on the stage. She then presented me with a big plastic gold key with a long red ribbon. Daddy helped me get to the podium on wobbly legs.
She said, “I am honored Mayor Duncan gave me the honor of presenting this to you.” The crowd roared again.
Taking the key, “Thank you,” I croaked. Giving it to Daddy who returned to his seat.
There was a hush. My throat was parched and mercifully there was a glass of water. Taking a lady like sip when I wanted to guzzle, “It wasn’t that easy to quiet a room when I was teaching.” Everyone laughed.
“This is overwhelming. I’ve missed every one of you and especially the students. For that I want to say I’m sorry.” A tear fell from my right eye.
Going on, “I have never regretted leaving Rugby because in a sense I never did. I’m here on the phone every week talking to Mom and Daddy. I may not be here in person, but my spirit will always reside here and is watching over all my students. Rugby is a part of me just as I’m a part of Rugby.”
The crowd cheered and many stood. It was exhilarating to feel the love they all shared. It didn’t take long to finish the speech and then go through the gauntlet of important dignitaries from all over the state, even the Lt. Governor.
The camera crew packed up and left for the airport. The flight was scheduled for eight and wanted to beat the next storm. They made it to Minot, but all flights were grounded. We spent the next three days buried in ten feet of snow.
Day 10: “Denver and New York get cold,” Terry said as he entered the house shivering. Taking off his snow-covered overcoat. “But they’re nothing like this.” He stayed at the Cobblestone Inn while I moved back home. Mom and Daddy were happier.
Emelia was right behind him. She wasn’t as cold in a full-length mink coat. Mom handed her a cup of hot chocolate which she graciously accepted.
“The only thing standing between Rugby and the North Pole is a barbed wire fence,” Mom said. “And today it’s down.” An old joke around here.
Shaking to try and warm up Terry said, “I believe it.”
“The crew get out yet?” I asked.
“This morning. The bus is pulling out as soon as we get an all clear from the state police and that should be within a couple of hours.”
Mom gave Terry a cup of hot coffee which he drank down. “Ah, that’s what I needed,” he said. Going on, “We’ll most likely have to spend the night in Minot and leave in the morning.”
Mom said, “Might as well make yourself at home. Zach’s in his man cave why don’t you join him?”
Emelia, Mom and I sat around the table drinking hot chocolate and planning the wedding. The one good thing about being snowed in was having time for this.
On the drive to Minot there were others standing along the side of the road, but they weren’t waving and cheering. They held up signs that read: STOP FRACKING, SB&T IS KILLING RUGBY. WE NEED CLEAN DRINKING WATER.
In shock I realized I wasn’t a hero to everyone. I got on my phone, “Daddy, is Phillips fracking for the gas?”
“That’s what it takes to get it out,” he said.
I was upset, “They promised when we signed, they wouldn’t. It’s in the contract.”
His voice cracked a bit, “Once the projects started is when they started fracking. There was no going back.”
Hanging my head, “And I’m the one leading all the other small towns to their dooms.” Looking at Emelia, “What have I done?”
Coldly she said, “You found a way for the corporation to triple its profits over the next ten years.”
Now I knew what Gunter meant by losing my soul.
Jim
By Christmas I was in a nice one-bedroom apartment. I don’t know what I’ll do when the six-month lease is up and I’m out of a job, but it’s nice for now. The team was 3–8. We were only blown out in one game.
There was a break in the weather, and I made it back to Salida. Eating Sunday dinner at Momma D’s with my buddies and their wives, they gave me a hard time about walking away from the reporter.
Stephanie said, “I never knew you had such a cute butt.”
Before I could respond Evelyn stopped by, “Want your job back?”
“No,” I said. “Came to get the rest of my stuff.”
“Good,” she said. “I can’t rent it out with all that crap in there.”
You have no idea how glad I was not having her as a landlord.
“Let me know when you get tired of city life,” she said walking away.
“What are the golf courses like?” Jake asked.
I threw the idea out, “Why don’t you all come up this summer and find out?”
Stephanie quickly added, “Great idea, we girls can all do some shopping while you guys go out and hit a stupid white ball.”
Melvin was the math teacher, “Motel rooms, travel expenses, food, green fees, and shopping; you trying to bankrupt us?”
Denver’s less than two hundred miles away and they’ll all come up in Lyman’s SUV. Rooms in an Econo Lodge isn’t that much, and it has a free breakfast. Green fees will be a little higher, but not much and it’s up to the husband to control his wife’s spending. “You wanted to know what the golf courses are like; this is the only way to find out.”
We settled on three days in late June. It’s nice to schedule things during the middle of the week in summers instead of the weekends.
The Broncos made it into the super bowl and all of Colorado went crazy as usual. I made a number of female friends. I purposely didn’t date any teachers from school. Many were willing on the first date, and who am I to turn down such a tempting offer? For some reason one time was all they wanted. I’m sure a girl would be crushed with the wham, bam thank you man routine, but after a shredded heart I didn’t mind.
Jazmine would be the one exception to the rule, but we both knew how to keep our relationship cool. In the teacher’s lounge she announced, “Super bowl party at my house. I’m providing the place, bring something to snack on and your own bottle.”
In our box was a folded invitation with her address on it. The married teachers wouldn’t come so she didn’t have to fear a huge crowd.
With vegie tray, fruit tray and six pack of Coors, wearing my Peyton Manning jersey, Broncos coat, ski cap and gloves I knocked on her door. I was met by a man who made me look like a midget.
“Welcome,” he said. “You the new coach?”
“Right,” I said coming in and shedding outer layers. He took my sack of food and drink into the kitchen.
Jazmine came out in black pants and a black sheer see through top showing a low-cut black bra. It took effort not to drool.
“See you met Hakim, my brother,” she said.
That’s a load off, “He play for the Nuggets?”
Coming out he said, “Landed wrong junior year in college. Spent a year in a body cast. I’m not messing with that anymore.”
“Don’t blame you,” I sympathized. “I’m still paying for knee surgery.”
Two of Hakim’s friends were in the family room sitting around a large TV. The pre-game garbage was on so the sound was muted. Hakim introduced me to Jamal and Vincent. I was a little uncomfortable being the only white present.
The doorbell rang again, Reggie and Louis walked in. Somehow it wasn’t so awkward anymore. Right after the national anthem two friends of Jazmine showed up with Monica Mendes.
The game was put on pause as she introduced Kelly, a white woman with tattoos all over her neck and arms. She was skinny as a rail and looked like a junkie with spaced eyes under really ratty brown hair. The other was Shakira, a light skinned black with a knockout body and straightened hair down to her shoulders.
Jasmine went on to say, “Kelly and I played together at CU. She’s fallen on hard times and I’m helping her get back on her feet.”
The girl tried to disappear. Louis put his arm around her. “I hit rock bottom a few years ago and Jasmine brought me back.”
Jazmine went on, “Shakira and I played ball together in the WNBA and is now coaching the Tulsa Shock. She’s in town trying to recruit me onto her coaching staff.”
“Monica,” Jasmine said. “Is here on a preliminary interview as she’s planning a story on both of them.”
I wanted to ignore her, but instead held out my hand, “Nice to meet you under better circumstances.”
She smiled and we shook. Not being on the receiving end of her questions I let my eyes wonder over her nice figure. On TV you only see her pretty face.
Halfway through the first quarter I was on my third beer and stuffed with little smokies in barbeque sauce, veggies and dip, not to mention Buffalo wings with blue cheese dressing.
Louis and Kelly were huddled up in a corner. Hakim and his buddies were trying to impress Shakira. Jazmine was talking with Monica who was taking notes. Reggie and I were the only ones really watching the game. The only thing everyone paid attention to were the commercials.
I was taking a sip of beer when the logo for SB&T came on. Rhonda was on courthouse steps, “United States Security Bank and Trust is always there to help those in financial need. We are currently helping finance capital improvements in small towns across America.” Pictures of road construction, sewage pipes being put into trenches, schools under repair flashed across the screen. Rhonda was in some of the pictures. Back to Rhonda. “SB&T is helping rebuild the small towns and cities that have always made America great.”
After other commercials, one was mildly funny, the game resumed.
Jazmine went back to discussing things with Monica. Reggie and I continued to watch the game. Nothing was said about Rhonda, but every time I see her rips my heart out. After seven months you’d think I would be over it.
Start of the second quarter SB&T aired another ad. A male voice said, “Last year when SB&T loaned Rugby, North Dakota a billion dollars to comply with EPA standards we found a treasure. Our world ambassador: Rhonda Duncan.”
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A picture of her in her office. In Paris standing next to the President of France. In Rome, with the Pope. A video clip of Rhonda stepping off a plane with people screaming, then in a limo talking about what it was like to come home. There were stills of her at the construction sights and in her school with students.
Voice over: “Rhonda was a second-grade teacher who prepared the prospectus for the loan we granted. She spoke for Rugby and convinced SB&T to fund the loan that saved her town. She convinced us that all small towns in America need the same deal. We listened and U.S. Security Bank and Trust is announcing our Bail out America plan.”
Standing behind a podium she said, “I don’t regret leaving Rugby, because I never left. You are always with me.”
Voice over: “SB&T is committed to rebuilding small town America and making the country great again.”
Vincent scoffed, “Little white bitch don’t speak for me in that white bread town. Bank only gonna save the crackers. No way they gonna loan to places mostly black.”
I was off the sofa and took a step before stopping. Reggie was ready to grab me from behind. Turning I said to Jazmine, “Thanks for the party. I need to leave.”
Monica moved in front of me with a voice recorder, “How did seeing your ex-girlfriend in those commercials make you feel?”
I brushed past her, “You’re not my shrink.”
Before I was out the door, I heard Jamal say, “He dated that fox?”
Thirty minutes later there was a knock on my door. “Do I have to get a restraining order?”
“I stopped to offer an apology,” Monica said and from her look she meant it.
Being the gentleman, I let her in.
“I hope you believe me that wasn’t planned. I didn’t know SB&T would be airing those commercials.
“Who won?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I left not long after you. The game should still be on I’d like to know too.”
I turned on the thirty-inch old style TV and she sat on the couch while I got a beer and a Diet Coke. There weren’t any more SB&T ads thankfully. The Broncos lost again. What’s one more broken heart?
Out of the blue she asked, “Would you like to go with me for a story in Walsenburg next weekend?”
“What’s the story about?”
“What happens to a small town that sells its mineral rights to banks?”
Best offer I’ve had in a while to get out of town, “Sure.”
Antonio
Hector went big time for the Super the Bowl. He rented a banquet room in a hotel. They set up four big screen TVs with surround sound. There were first class recliners, tables loaded with food, buckets of beer, and a fully stocked bar with topless bartender. Plus, a table of weed: reefer, candy, or brownie. There was a betting pool.
Pick Denver 28 to 24. Game close so paying attention. I never gambled in the Air Force. I got that out of my system in high school. No choice today and Hector’s stakes are high.
Content to watch the game while putas rub my back or snuggle on arm rest until a commercial break. Football games have lots of commercials.
About to explode when I heard her voice. Know that voice anywhere. Rugby’s greeting Rhonda like a hero. Long Ben now Little Ben and stay that way. Nothing more humiliating than not being able get it up but being that way in front of Hector and homies it was horrible.
Homies laughing then ignore me. Hector came after game with fat wallet full of winnings. “Esse, you got it bad for that chica.”
Nothing worse than the humiliation during game, but confiding in Hector, lowest ever. “I can look at pictures no problem and don’t watch much TV. Thought I was done with her, but something like this boomeranged.”
“Bueno she’s in New York or you would be of no use to me.”
Didn’t know what to say. He’s commiserating, is that threatening or sorry for me?
Taxis waiting, “Pick up something nice for Raquel, she’ll skin you alive for humiliating her tonight.”
Martinez and Rosa rub it in a week later. “The homies,” Rosa said, “think you’re a joke and can’t figure out why Hector keeps you around.”
“Better watch your back around them. They might be wanting your job.” Martinez said.
Rosa shook her head, “They know you’re afraid of them and won’t do something stupid with their money.”
Martinez looked at me, “Hector was betrayed by one of his own and decided not to make that mistake again. He lost face. I don’t know which way he’ll jump. If Raquel does something out of the ordinary call me right away so I can warn Rosa. Find a safe place to hide until I can reach you.”
Rhonda
“I’m glad to be back,” I said relaxing on my couch. “This place feels like home.”
Terry naturally had to be a party pooper, “Enjoy it while you can. “Next week you start a four-week tour of 10 states and 50 small towns.”
“Don’t remind me,” I said. “Or I’ll get hives.”
He had to rub it in, “BOA was your idea, remember.”
I took my sneaker off and threw it at him. “My idea was to start in Ohio, not the whole bloody country.”
Terry laughed, “Gunter never thinks small.”
BOA indeed, I thought. An appropriate acronym for squeezing every last dollar out of small towns.
You’d think I was President of the United States running for re-election giving speeches in five cities a day. My voice was raw by the third town and I resorted to motions and writing things down except during the speeches. At night I gargled with salt water and used a spray before and after like opera singers.
We flew to most states but went to the towns by bus staying at some really horrible hotels.
Faustino Salazar and Lionel Ortega were steadfast in keeping the Classical Politicians at bay (Roman hands) and made sure I never drank anything they didn’t open or drink out of first.
It was all a blur of official greetings, shaking hands, giving hugs, receiving keys to the city or the small red carpets. At night there were the banquets with even more hand shaking, hugs and dancing.
I didn’t go to sleep before midnight, and we left at five in the morning for the stop along the way.
I had an entourage of five women handpicked by Emilia. Lucinda was another constant companion who accompanied me to the rest room. The rest made sure my laundry was done, saw to it I was dressed appropriately and put on my makeup. There was no way I could have kept up with all that by myself.
Terry was sorely missed, but he was needed in New York. Emelia went with us the first week and then threw me to the wolves.
The horror of the experience was knowing there was a trip in Texas for four weeks before the wedding with Florida and California after the honeymoon. I didn’t even want to think about the following year.
A week to recuperate in New York, three weeks to finish up wedding plans, second whirlwind tour and finally the big day and then honeymoon. The classroom was becoming more and more appealing every day.
Jim
The Channel 7 van with tons of equipment picked me up. The cameraman drove and Monica took shotgun. I made do with a back seat that folded up to let equipment in. It rattled on every bump, and there were a lot of bumps.
We made it down by sunrise. It was breathtaking to see the Guadalupe Mountains turn from red to orange to yellow and finally white.
From there we drove to three ranches. Each rancher had the same sad tale of their water being polluted and the cattle dying. They all tossed a book of lit matches on a water tank, setting it on fire. The stench spoke for itself.
“We get four or five earthquakes a month,” Clayton Moonie, a seventy-year-old rancher living alone after his wife died of cancer. His children moved away with his grandchildren fearing for their lives. “Before they started fracking, we didn’t have an earthquake in fifty years.”
Monica would ask, “Did you give permission for the oil companies to drill on your land?”
They all shook their heads. “A few of the ranchers did and then took the money and ran,” they would all spit on the ground after saying that. “The city was needing money for this, that or the others and took out of loan from the local bank. They used the gas reserves as collateral and the oil companies fracked on public land, but it cracks the bedrock and spills over onto private land. Now this place is unlivable.”
Around Pueblo on the way back Monica said, “You’re awfully quiet, what’s the matter?”
“I grew up in Kansas. The cattlemen and oilmen always got along. What happened?”
Joe said, “All the easy oil and gas is gone. They have to drill deeper and deeper to get to it and that means going through hard rock. Fracking is the cheapest and easiest way.”
“But if it kills all the land around it and poisons all the water why do the people stand for it?”
“Farmers and ranchers have a small voice. Most of the population don’t know or don’t care as long as they have heat in their home from natural gas and gasoline in their cars at a price they can afford,” Monica answered.
“Okay I get it,” I said.
I was lost in thought again until the outskirts of Denver. Out of the blue without realizing I was speaking out loud I said, “I can’t believe the woman I loved is helping destroy hundreds of small towns across the country.”
Monica put her hand on my shoulder, “I’m sure she doesn’t know.”
“What she started will kill and destroy countless lives. In a few years Rugby will be uninhabitable, and they welcomed her like a rock star.” Monica gave me a hug at the station while Joe took the camera in to be processed. “When will the story air?”
“Sunday night at ten,” she said. “When we have the fewest viewers.” She looked at me, “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to join the Sierra Club and any other environmental group I can find.”
“Go for it,” she said handing me a card. “This is the group I belong to. We meet every Tuesday in St. Paul’s Presbyterian Church at seven in the evening.”
I looked at the card: Pure Water Coalition. “I’ll be there.”
After the newscast and later article in the Denver Post, Monica started coming to the games. Jazmine tapped me on the shoulder after the second one. “Fool ask that woman out on a date. I doubt she’ll be back a third time thinking you’re too stupid to get her drift.”
I sprang for dinner and since she was obviously willing, a motel room, but there wasn’t the spark I felt with Rhonda.
“If you compare every woman to Rhonda, you’ll die a very lonely man,” I said to myself getting home the next day.
She invited me to the next Pure Water meeting. Connie Brenner the chapter president converted me to the cause in fifteen seconds. After Walsenburg it wasn’t a hard sell.
At the school’s booster club meeting on a Thursday evening, Jazmine brought up the dreaded fundraiser over the summer. I didn’t think much about it. A few car washes, bake sales, when school starts candy sales and the depleted funds will be restored. Being unemployed I wouldn’t have to worry about it.
Instead, she announced, “Brenda Cates is taking photography and suggested we do a calendar. She’ll take the pictures; the photography teacher will develop them. We can use the production room to print and staple.”
I opened my big fat mouth, “I think it’s a great idea.”
It became very quiet as everyone looked at me. I quickly looked down to make sure my fly wasn’t open, then back up.
“We’re all glad you think this way,” Jazmine gave me an evil smile. “Because it’s unanimous you’ll be the model for the calendar.”
I stepped in it, big time. Clutching at a straw, but I thought it was a good argument, “I’m on short term contract. There’s no guarantee I’ll be back next school year. For all I know I’m headed back to Salida.”
They all laughed. Clete Satepahudal, our six foot four, three-hundred-pound former linebacker for the Arizona Cardinals and head football coach gave me a playful tap. It nearly sent me back to Wichita. “You’ll be back.” Walking out of the performing arts center I was thinking about stopping at a Walgreens for a neck brace.
The weekend before finals the photography club, athletes, parents, other teachers mostly female showed up for the shoot. They showed me the photos the yearbook staff took earlier in the year and they only needed me to do the different sports.
It was a little weird standing with only shoulder pads and the butt pads. Do you have any idea how embarrassing it is to be wearing skimpy swim trunks in front of what felt like the whole school? The others were okay, just time-consuming changing outfits every thirty minutes.
