THE ELECTION

(Based on a family story handed down as being true.  Names have been changed to protect the innocent )

Duke lay in his bed, in the one room rental where he had lived for the past twelve years. Mrs. Molly Fugerson had five rooms she kept mostly rented -- Duke was her longest resident. Stretched on his bed, hands clasp behind his head, Duke eyed his gun and holster which were hanging on the post at the foot of the bed. The then sleepy little town of Conroe, Texas, wasn’t awake yet, saving the newspaper people who were frantically working to get the results of yesterday’s election ready for the day’s special edition. Duke had been awake all night, chasing back and forth watching the election results which were being posted in the window of the Conroe Courier. His thoughts carried him to a time gone by when his idol, Wyatt Earp, had ruled Tombstone with an iron fist. The old west was gone now, except in the early memories of some of Conroe’s elderly citizens. Duke, a man of few words, spent most of his pastime reading Old West magazines and picking stories from the few who would spend time with him. He’d long sensed he was born too late - he’d missed his place in history!

Duke often dreamed of being sheriff in the likeness of Wyatt. In the hopeful fulfillment of his dream, and with the encouragement of a few friends, Duke entered the race for Sheriff of Montgomery County. He knew it wouldn’t be the old west, but it was as close as he could get. He envisioned the headlines: "DUKE PURSWELL ELECTED SHERIFF!" He had staged a bitter campaign, spending the last three weeks sitting at the same table of the local coffee shop from opening until close. He knew that in time, every eligible voter would pass through the coffee shop and they would get a chance to see him.  Duke would sit at his table, peering into his coffee, and occasionally look up to give a hand wave at a patron coming or going from the coffee shop. 

Duke rose from his bed, slipped into one of his two pair of tattered and worn jeans, splashed his face, and put on his only cowboy hat. His dream was not to be! His last visit to the newspaper window had the final tally - 487 to 16. Something didn’t seem fitting to Duke.  How had he lost so miserably after spending so much time campaigning in the coffee shop?  He gazed longingly at the gun and holster, which he had purchased a month earlier for this very occasion - the day he was elected sheriff!  Duke gently lifted the holster from the bedpost, strapped it around his waist - firmly synching the belt - gave the pistol a quick out-of-the-holster and snuggled it back in place, took a look in the mirror to adjust his hat, and headed out the door.

Standing tall and walking with a slight swagger from the gun hung on his hip, Duke walked slowly toward the newspaper window to take one last look, in hopes he had misread the final results. A few people were now stirring about the streets as he arrived at the window. Looking up at the window, there it was - Duke Purswell, 16 votes; his dream was over!  His countenance sank; he turned from the window and walked over to lean on one of the new parking meters which had been installed only two weeks earlier. Conroe had never had parking meters. Duke had been looking forward to writing tickets and placing them on parked cars in front of the expired meters. He was leaning against the meter, head hung down, and solemnly looking at his feet, when Mrs. Maidy Thompson, a rather formal older lady, tapped him on the shoulder. Duke slowly turned and mumbled, "Mornin Miz Maidy." She said, "Good morning Duke. I saw the results and I’m sorry you lost the election - I voted for you -- but, I must ask why you are wearing that gun when you were not elected sheriff ?"   Duke stood quietly for a moment, still looking at his feet, and replied, "Thanks fer yor vote Miz Maidy – and well – well, hell Miz Maidy, anybody who ain’t got no more friends than me needs to wear a gun."

Barnum Taylor © 2009