The Mayor of Callus Lied

As long as I lived in the central Nebraska farming village of Callus, I would always know four things: when it was noon, when there was a fire, when a tornado was spotted, and when there was a drowning at the nearby REA diversion dam. These four things were announced by the siren on top of the village fire hall.

The siren would signal noon by winding up to a full wail and then unwinding to silence. It would summon the volunteer firefighters by repeating the signal over and over. For tornadoes, the siren would twist out yet a different signal – sort of a slow motion warble. The most haunting cry of all, however, was the drowning siren. It would be turned on and left to wail away, uninterrupted, at full volume for a minute or more. The unrelenting howl compelled the most urgent response.

Built in the 1930s by the Rural Electrification Administration, the dam had the deepest water and convenient diving towers. The amount of water being diverted into the powerhouse canal was controlled by four guillotine-like gates whose steel framing provided diving platforms up to about 30 feet above the water. Adolescents with naive assumptions of immortality – or the just plain ignorant and foolish – might be seen diving into the reservoir and then swimming under the guillotine-blade-gate into the canal.

For a strong swimmer, this adventure is not as risky as it may seem. Most rivers of the Great Plains are wide, shallow, lazily meandering affairs that are more sandbar than water. The dams, canals, and powerhouses are of a scale to serve only a few thousand customers. Though very rare, a swimmer occasionally gets tangled up in a gate, or bangs his head hard enough to knock himself out, and needs to be pulled out of the canal and resuscitated. The siren attendant throws the switch and leaves the siren to wail away as he or she rushes immediately to the dam. Once a number of responders are on the way, someone will get around to turning off the siren.

I did not grow up entirely in Callus. The family farm was being operated profitably by grandpa and grandma with the help of dad’s uncle and older brother. Mom and dad left Nebraska for Seattle, where dad worked as a machinist and millwright at Paccar, Kenworth, and Boeing. They, and later, we, would travel back to Callus for a vacation visit nearly every year. Mom had her own earnings from a part-time decorating and catering business and would sometimes go back home for a visit by herself because dad could only really take one annual vacation, unless he was between jobs.

But time marched on after all, and the grandparents and dad’s uncle grew older and older until there came a time when they wanted to retire and do a little traveling before they had to take that last mysterious journey that lies before all of us who are mortal. So, between my sophomore and junior year, we pulled up stakes and headed back to Boelus to take over the operation of the farm.

My uncle, dad’s older brother, and his family were living in the main farmhouse. He would be staying on to help with the farm. Dad’s uncle and aunt were comfortably ensconced in the smaller, original house. They liked it there. They wanted to stay. This was no trouble, as the farm was only about five miles north of the village. Mom was a ‘neighbor’ who liked to go visiting around, so she was in favor of living in town and dad was used to commuting anyway, so they decided to buy a house on the edge of town instead of chewing up any ground on the farm for another house.

Dad’s family had long been successful farmers. It was in his blood. In spite of a number of years in the city working for others, he reentered the business without missing a beat. I found over the years of summer vacationing ‘back home’ that I also liked the life. As we settled in to our new lives we soon found that we were really getting into the spirit of the farm and began making plans to expand operations.

This kept dad busier and busier on the farm. Mom didn’t seem to mind dad’s increasingly long work days. She was content with her active social life. I didn’t care. Kathy and I were in love. Mom could have disappeared for a week and dad could have been working 16 hours a day on the farm and I wouldn’t have noticed.

By this time I was a year out of high school and taking on my own responsibilities on the farm. I had grown to love the life and wanted to be part of it. The operation was profitable. Kathy and I began to entertain ideas of marriage. So, by this time, in addition to the four things I would always know because of the siren, I knew I was in love.

And I knew I hated her father. He was a successful merchant, owning a grocery store, tavern, and farm supply store. He was the mayor. Yes sir, the mayor of Boelus, a thriving and growing farm center of not so many people, yet plenty of businesses serving the surrounding farms. His wealth depended on farmers, yet, for some reason, I wasn’t good enough for his daughter. He fought our courtship at every turn. He had plans for his daughter to marry someone ‘better’ than some damn farmer.

He was always trying to push her off to college like he wanted her to find a doctor or lawyer. Kathy and I were reduced to sneaking around like adulterers. Whenever I would grow frustrated with her father and express my hatred for him and my desire to just punch him out, Kathy would laugh and point out that one of the reasons she loved me was that in some ways I was just like her father. “I know he’s a manipulative, pushy jerk a lot of the time,” she would say, “and you hate him because he doesn’t want us to be together, but you both have a drive, ambition, and desire that fire you guys up when you’re after something you want. And when you get that sneer on your face when you’re being sarcastic about something I’m sometimes afraid you’re going to start ridiculing me the way he does when he thinks I’m being a silly little girl.”

She was right. I did sometimes get all fired up and tear off after some goal. And I could get pretty mouthy when I perceived that I was being obstructed. Maybe I should just settle down and talk calmly with him. Reason with him. Point out the long standing profitability of the farm. Ask him if he remembers what it was like to be young and in love.

Soon there came an afternoon when I had to pick up some repair parts in town. At least the mayor didn’t own the implement dealership. It always galled me when I had to pick something up from the farm supply store. I didn’t like the idea of this manipulative, game-playing bastard profiting at all from our business. I yielded to the desperation of being young and in love, ratcheted up my courage, and went looking for the mayor. It was time that we talked.

When I tried his office, his secretary wasn’t sure where he was or when he would be back. When I tried his home, his wife told me he was out in the countryside looking over some property. She wasn’t sure where. It was uncanny. The Mayor seemed to be avoiding me without even knowing I was looking for him. I gave up on confronting him that afternoon and headed on back to the farm. Damned if I didn’t spotted his car parked at the riverfront park as I was crossing the bridge on the way back to the farm.

I pulled into a parking area, but did not see him in or around his car. I parked the pickup and began walking the riverside trail. Soon enough I spotted him in a shaded glen where a side trail came down to meet the riverside trail. He was not alone. He and a woman were wrapped in a passionate embrace that reminded me of the way Kathy and I began and ended our trysts. I was not being at all stealthy. As I walked openly and directly up the trail it was soon enough that they heard me and disengaged from their tangled embrace. As she stepped back from his arms and turned to face me, I was looking directly into my mother’s eyes. I sleep walked to a stop about dozen yards from this unexpected coupling. I hadn’t seen my mother’s car. She must be parked in the other lot farther upstream.

Time seemed to stand still as I stood there wrestling with outrage, embarrassment, and pain. Then it was like a heavy, black curtain closed on my emotions. Deep inside I felt myself go cold and was almost startled to hear my own voice say, “You son of a bitch. You make Kathy and I sneak around in order to be together at the same damn time you’re trying to get into my mother’s pants. I’ll tell you what, asshole; you’re run for reelection is just about five weeks away, right? Well, nobody, I repeat,” as I shift my glare momentarily to my mother, “nobody will ever hear what I have seen here today. But… you will stop interfering with your daughter and me. Is that clear enough… sir?”

My mother seemed paralyzed with horror as she witnessed this compromise I was negotiating with the man she obviously felt very differently about than I did. As she looked about ready to respond, the mayor gently quieted her with a look, and turned to me with a twist to his mouth that I could not interpret. I couldn’t decide if it were a rueful smile, or a contemptible sneer. “Okay kid, you got me. Just keep your mouth shut and we’ll work out the details after the election.”

Kathy and I had a wonderful month of freedom. Without her father’s efforts to derail our romance, we were able to more freely enjoy our time together. Time passed quickly and soon the election was over. The mayor’s bid for reelection was successful. Immediately after the victory, the mayor and his family left for a month long vacation in Europe. Kathy and I had looked forward to that time with mixed feelings. We didn’t like the idea of the separation, yet we anticipated with happiness the reunion when they returned, and getting on with our lives without her father’s meddling.

The month of their absence went slowly enough. By November on a farm all the heavy work of getting in the harvest is long done, and life on the farm settles down to a winter of equipment maintenance and repair. This activity lacks the immediacy and pressure of the growing season, so it is easier for the mind to dwell on other concerns. I longed to be with my lover. I anxiously awaited her return.

Eventually, the day of their return finally arrived. I drove to Grand Island, where the mayor’s family would be arriving on a commuter flight connection from the international airport in Chicago. I watch the passengers deplane. As the mayor’s wife got into a waiting car, he spots me and walks my way. As he draws closer, I’m dreadfully aware that Kathy has not come off the airplane yet.

My fists begin to clinch in rage as I feel the heat rising in me. My eyes widen and my nostrils flare in fury. Before I can find my voice, the mayor gets right to the point, “Kathy has stayed in Europe to continue her schooling. She will not be returning to Callus for a long time. Her mother and I will go to her for visits, or meet her in New York. Kathy has decided this for herself.”

“You son of a bitch, what the hell have you done? What do you mean, ‘she has decided for herself,’ you damned liar! You remind of the difference between a politician and a catfish!”

With an irritating lack of response to my anger he hooks an eyebrow into a question mark, “And that difference would be…?

“One is a slimy, bottom-dwelling, scum sucker – and the other one is a fish! You lowlife…” I get no further as he cuts me off.

“You tried to blackmail me you hypocritical little snot! You’re every bit as bad as you think I am. Besides, what do you think you can do? You want to go public? You want to drag your mother and father threw the mud? Grow up a little, will you? Go ahead! I’m getting tired of the secrets. Your mother and I have had to be discreet for too damned many years!”

The truth washed over me and quenched my fury as I gazed into an older, more deeply lined reflection of my own face and heard him say, “Do you have it figured out yet… son?”

The weight of a dreadful truth pulled me under a cold steel gate into a murky canal. An icy finger reached for a switch… and the drowning siren began to wail.