My wife's company held their annual party every year in Lewisburg. There were only a couple of weird things about it: They invariably held it in January, after the holidays, and my wife's weird co-workers. Many of whom were rushing out onto the dance floor, drinks in hand.
I finished my beer and stood up. I was wearing my shirt with the green crop circles on it. Discreetly, I walked across the room, and with nobody looking, I ducked out the side door and into the parking lot.
I'm not much of a party guy. So I'd done what I always do---I'd dug up a couple of UFO sightings in the area, and slipped out to look into them.
Lewisburg had reported at least three UFO sightings within the past year. I walked around the side of the building and found the highest ground, the garden area beside the highway. I stood up on the hill and scoped things out.
Route 15 was below me, and I was practically on the border of Union County. I could see across the street, into Northumberland. I got my binoculars out of my coat pocket, and realized they were missing a lens. Dammit. There was a Wal-Mart just down the hill, which meant I didn't have to sweat broken equipment. I wandered down, bought a new pair of binoculars, and then went back to my post.
Lewisburg was between three nearby airports; I'd already checked that; it's standard procedure. I scanned the river with the binoculars, and saw a very bright light, aiming directly toward me. I got out my camera and took a photo. It disappeared, and then a minute later, it was back again.
I unfolded my map and checked. I was facing Highway 147, which meant that cars coming down off the exit would be facing me. Shining their lights right at me. That explained it.
Lewisburg was covered with lights; a shocking amount of the valley was lit up. With the airports and the nearby prison, that probably explained a lot of the sightings.
I went back into the banquet hall. I snuck back inside, hung up my coat, and headed for the bar for another beer. I walked past a whole room full of unexplainable, strange, otherworldly creatures, all drinking on the dance floor.
"Who's that girl....Watch that scene....Digging the dancing queen."
So there I sat, wearing my shirt that said Bigfoot saw me, but nobody believes him. In city hall. At a city council meeting. Don't judge me.
"You want to go first?" Joby whispered from the seat behind me. Joby is a friend of mine, and runs the local college library. He's also one of the few local historians who can keep up with me; he's as good as I am.
I nodded. "I'll say a few words."
"Next order of business," said one of the city councilmen,"We have a discrepancy with the portraits of our past mayors in this room. I've invited some of the local historians to tell us about it. You all know Lou."
I stood up. "Several years ago, I was asked to write a series of articles on the local mayors. While I was doing that, I discovered that we have missing portraits here. In 1983, during the anniversary, someone came in and copied all the names and dates down, but we're missing a few. That list became the definitive list of mayors, so we have some gaps in our history. Samuel Crist, John Wynn, and William Mayer are missing, and Joby recently discovered that Winfield Clawater has no information on him at all. We didn't even know he was mayor."
"Looks like we have a picture of Crist up there," said Joby. He handed me one of his printouts, and I looked up and compared it to the portrait, third from the left. Same guy.
"So we seem to have added Crist," I said. "But we're still missing Mayer and Wynn. Joby has found them. We'll probably never find a portrait of Clawater, but we'd like to have the others added to the wall. We should have all the pictures of mayors."
"I make a motion," said the city councilman.
I stopped outside City Hall the next day. Nobody was there, at least not anyone in the halls. Or in council chambers, where I stopped in. I took a look at the portraits---Something had been bugging me.
I looked up---Third one from the left. The guy Joby had pointed out last night. The photo was the same, but the label said "R.R. Bridgens."
"Hey, Joby? It's Lou."
"Hi, Lou! What can I do for you?"
In the library, my desk was in the Pennsylvania Room. The old part of the library. The part that had, coincidentally, been the home of R.R. Bridgens. It had been updated with electricity, air conditioning, and wireless. Yet, I still had to stretch my goddamn phone cord halfway across the room to my desk.
"We may need to regroup," I said. "I checked on my way into work. The guy in the photo? He's Bridgens, not Crist, or at least that's what the label says. We need to let city council know, and figure this out."
"Hmm. I've been looking for pictures of them both all morning. I found a photo of Crist on ancestry, posted by a descendant. I'm pretty sure it'll be Bridgens, mislabeled as Crist. Anything at the Ross?"
"I'll check our archives, see what I can find," I said. "We have a mystery here."
"For what it's worth," said Joby,"I'm betting a nickel it's Bridgens we're missing, not Crist."
"Know what? I'll take that action," I said. "I'm gonna bet we're missing Crist, and someone mislabeled him on ancestry."
"You're on," said Joby. "I'm willing to die on this hill."
"I'll check our archives, let you know."
"The New Yorker is in," I told Barb as I dropped it on her desk. "Brought it right to you." It had a picture of Trump on it, drowning as he clamored for the Wall. I'd been looking through our index when the mail came in.
"How about me?" asked Zach, sitting at his desk.
"Got you, too." I set his mail on the desk. He picked it up and looked at an envelope.
"This is from the Queen of England," he said. "Really."
We all glanced at him. The envelope he was holding was an official-looking, attractive tan envelope. Zach was a big fan of the royals of England, and often talked about them. I'd once told him,"I'll be concerned about the royal lineage when I'm next in line. And so should everyone else."
"I sent her a Christmas card," said Zach. "I got this, I guess, in return."
"No kidding? What is it?" asked Barb.
"I'm almost scared to open it," said Zach. "It could be anything."
"Thank-you letter?" guessed Tracey. "Autographed photo?"
"Restraining order?" I suggested. I put on a British accent. "Dear Zachary, please stop contacting the queen. We no longer fancy your calls on the telly."
Everyone laughed. Zach slid open the envelope.
"It's a letter of thanks," he said. "I think I'm going to have to frame it."
"I have a few frames in the trunk by my desk," I offered.
He gave me a scathing look. "You do not put a letter from the queen in any old frame out of a trunk," he said.
"You're right." I grinned. "What was I thinking?"
I found the boxes on the counter at the library, several boxes filled with old documents and newspaper clippings. People had been bringing in donations for the book sale, and they tended to bring in historic information, as well. I looked in and began sorting through them.
The main door opened, and a guy came in. He looked me over and asked,"Do you work here?"
"Yes, sir, I do. What can I do for you?"
"Do you go to church?"
Invariably, when someone asks me that directly, my first thought is Oh, shit. usually that is accurate.
"Not really, no."
"Does anyone go to church? I need to talk to a pastor. I'm passing through, and looking for a place to spend the night."
This guy looked like a homeless man right out of central casting. Long beard, raggy clothes, and a backpack the size of Leidy Township
"Um, I don't actually....I don't know, sir. I don't talk about religion with my co-workers too much."
"Can you ask? I need a pastor. I've already talked to the Salvation Army and the police, and they can't help me."
"We have a homeless shelter down on----"
"I've already checked. They're filled."
"Give me a minute," I said.
I went back to Sue's office.
"Weird question," I said,"Do you go to church?"
She gave me a look. "I believe, but I haven't been in a while."
"Yeah. that's what I thought. I got a homeless guy out here trying to contact a pastor."
Sue shook her head. "Nah, I wouldn't know how to hook him up. Did you see the boxes that came in for you?"
"I'm sorting through them now. Thanks."
I went back out to the desk. The homeless guy was still there. I said,"No, I'm sorry, nobody really knows how to get a pastor right now. There are plenty of churches that have evening services---Great Island on Water, Saint Paul's on Main. You could try to catch them in about an hour."
"Hmm. I was hoping to find something before that."
"Yeah, it's all I can think of. I can give you a free map of Lock Haven, if that would help."
He shook his head. "Nah, no reason for that."
"Well, good luck."
He turned toward the door. "Don't need luck, brother. I got Jesus Christ on my side."
He left, and I went back to the documents.
Some of them were important historic information, and others were crap. About the way it always is. I found several of my own articles. Somehow, this is always both expected and surprising. Some of the documents were filed into binders, and I took one of them and retreated back to my desk to work on it.
I paged through, looking at the articles. Some were good, and some weren't worth saving. I found one by my old friend Matt Connor---Matt had been a local history writer. He'd died of cancer in 2012. It was an article about the Crist House, which had been torn down in 2006.
I laughed aloud, sitting at my desk.
It had a photo of the house, and a photo of Crist. And it was the same one Joby had, the one hanging at city hall.
I stood up, putting the page in my pocket.
"Tracey," I said,"Gotta run to City Hall for a while. Be right back."
Tracey, working at the desk, nodded.
I slipped out the side door---Since my desk was right beside it, I'd been using it as an escape hatch. I biked the couple of blocks to City Hall, and walked into council chambers. I was technically trespassing, but it's been a while since anyone tried to stop me from doing anything like that. They usually assume I have some valid reason for it.
I stood in the empty room and looked up at the portraits. Mackey, Smith....And then the one labelled Bridgens. Exactly the same picture as the article in my pocket.
I biked back to the library and entered through the side door. Tracey was telling someone,"Lou said he'd be back any minute..."
"I'm here," I called, and my son and daughter came around the corner.
"Daddy!" Paul announced happily. "We had pizza!"
I hugged him. "Yeah? Was it good?"
"Yeah!"
"How's it going, Dad?" Tif asked as she came around the corner in her wheelchair.
"Pretty good," I said. "May have solved at least one mystery. But I owe Joby a nickel."
"Well, cool. What now?"
"I gotta do some work on tracking down the, ah, houses of ill repute in Lock Haven."
"Houses? How many did we have?"
"I have a line on at least four. Lock Haven was once known for this stuff."
"Gonna write an article?"
"I'm thinking of headlining it Oral History."
"Please don't."
Paul sat down at my desk, tapping on my computer keyboard. "I am writing a article," he declared. "About Bigfoot."
I smiled and gave him a hug.
"That's my boy."
"You want to go first?" Joby whispered from the seat behind me. Joby is a friend of mine, and runs the local college library. He's also one of the few local historians who can keep up with me; he's as good as I am.
I nodded. "I'll say a few words."
"Next order of business," said one of the city councilmen,"We have a discrepancy with the portraits of our past mayors in this room. I've invited some of the local historians to tell us about it. You all know Lou."
I stood up. "Several years ago, I was asked to write a series of articles on the local mayors. While I was doing that, I discovered that we have missing portraits here. In 1983, during the anniversary, someone came in and copied all the names and dates down, but we're missing a few. That list became the definitive list of mayors, so we have some gaps in our history. Samuel Crist, John Wynn, and William Mayer are missing, and Joby recently discovered that Winfield Clawater has no information on him at all. We didn't even know he was mayor."
"Looks like we have a picture of Crist up there," said Joby. He handed me one of his printouts, and I looked up and compared it to the portrait, third from the left. Same guy.
"So we seem to have added Crist," I said. "But we're still missing Mayer and Wynn. Joby has found them. We'll probably never find a portrait of Clawater, but we'd like to have the others added to the wall. We should have all the pictures of mayors."
"I make a motion," said the city councilman.
I stopped outside City Hall the next day. Nobody was there, at least not anyone in the halls. Or in council chambers, where I stopped in. I took a look at the portraits---Something had been bugging me.
I looked up---Third one from the left. The guy Joby had pointed out last night. The photo was the same, but the label said "R.R. Bridgens."
"Hey, Joby? It's Lou."
"Hi, Lou! What can I do for you?"
In the library, my desk was in the Pennsylvania Room. The old part of the library. The part that had, coincidentally, been the home of R.R. Bridgens. It had been updated with electricity, air conditioning, and wireless. Yet, I still had to stretch my goddamn phone cord halfway across the room to my desk.
"We may need to regroup," I said. "I checked on my way into work. The guy in the photo? He's Bridgens, not Crist, or at least that's what the label says. We need to let city council know, and figure this out."
"Hmm. I've been looking for pictures of them both all morning. I found a photo of Crist on ancestry, posted by a descendant. I'm pretty sure it'll be Bridgens, mislabeled as Crist. Anything at the Ross?"
"I'll check our archives, see what I can find," I said. "We have a mystery here."
"For what it's worth," said Joby,"I'm betting a nickel it's Bridgens we're missing, not Crist."
"Know what? I'll take that action," I said. "I'm gonna bet we're missing Crist, and someone mislabeled him on ancestry."
"You're on," said Joby. "I'm willing to die on this hill."
"I'll check our archives, let you know."
"The New Yorker is in," I told Barb as I dropped it on her desk. "Brought it right to you." It had a picture of Trump on it, drowning as he clamored for the Wall. I'd been looking through our index when the mail came in.
"How about me?" asked Zach, sitting at his desk.
"Got you, too." I set his mail on the desk. He picked it up and looked at an envelope.
"This is from the Queen of England," he said. "Really."
We all glanced at him. The envelope he was holding was an official-looking, attractive tan envelope. Zach was a big fan of the royals of England, and often talked about them. I'd once told him,"I'll be concerned about the royal lineage when I'm next in line. And so should everyone else."
"I sent her a Christmas card," said Zach. "I got this, I guess, in return."
"No kidding? What is it?" asked Barb.
"I'm almost scared to open it," said Zach. "It could be anything."
"Thank-you letter?" guessed Tracey. "Autographed photo?"
"Restraining order?" I suggested. I put on a British accent. "Dear Zachary, please stop contacting the queen. We no longer fancy your calls on the telly."
Everyone laughed. Zach slid open the envelope.
"It's a letter of thanks," he said. "I think I'm going to have to frame it."
"I have a few frames in the trunk by my desk," I offered.
He gave me a scathing look. "You do not put a letter from the queen in any old frame out of a trunk," he said.
"You're right." I grinned. "What was I thinking?"
I found the boxes on the counter at the library, several boxes filled with old documents and newspaper clippings. People had been bringing in donations for the book sale, and they tended to bring in historic information, as well. I looked in and began sorting through them.
The main door opened, and a guy came in. He looked me over and asked,"Do you work here?"
"Yes, sir, I do. What can I do for you?"
"Do you go to church?"
Invariably, when someone asks me that directly, my first thought is Oh, shit. usually that is accurate.
"Not really, no."
"Does anyone go to church? I need to talk to a pastor. I'm passing through, and looking for a place to spend the night."
This guy looked like a homeless man right out of central casting. Long beard, raggy clothes, and a backpack the size of Leidy Township
"Um, I don't actually....I don't know, sir. I don't talk about religion with my co-workers too much."
"Can you ask? I need a pastor. I've already talked to the Salvation Army and the police, and they can't help me."
"We have a homeless shelter down on----"
"I've already checked. They're filled."
"Give me a minute," I said.
I went back to Sue's office.
"Weird question," I said,"Do you go to church?"
She gave me a look. "I believe, but I haven't been in a while."
"Yeah. that's what I thought. I got a homeless guy out here trying to contact a pastor."
Sue shook her head. "Nah, I wouldn't know how to hook him up. Did you see the boxes that came in for you?"
"I'm sorting through them now. Thanks."
I went back out to the desk. The homeless guy was still there. I said,"No, I'm sorry, nobody really knows how to get a pastor right now. There are plenty of churches that have evening services---Great Island on Water, Saint Paul's on Main. You could try to catch them in about an hour."
"Hmm. I was hoping to find something before that."
"Yeah, it's all I can think of. I can give you a free map of Lock Haven, if that would help."
He shook his head. "Nah, no reason for that."
"Well, good luck."
He turned toward the door. "Don't need luck, brother. I got Jesus Christ on my side."
He left, and I went back to the documents.
Some of them were important historic information, and others were crap. About the way it always is. I found several of my own articles. Somehow, this is always both expected and surprising. Some of the documents were filed into binders, and I took one of them and retreated back to my desk to work on it.
I paged through, looking at the articles. Some were good, and some weren't worth saving. I found one by my old friend Matt Connor---Matt had been a local history writer. He'd died of cancer in 2012. It was an article about the Crist House, which had been torn down in 2006.
I laughed aloud, sitting at my desk.
It had a photo of the house, and a photo of Crist. And it was the same one Joby had, the one hanging at city hall.
I stood up, putting the page in my pocket.
"Tracey," I said,"Gotta run to City Hall for a while. Be right back."
Tracey, working at the desk, nodded.
I slipped out the side door---Since my desk was right beside it, I'd been using it as an escape hatch. I biked the couple of blocks to City Hall, and walked into council chambers. I was technically trespassing, but it's been a while since anyone tried to stop me from doing anything like that. They usually assume I have some valid reason for it.
I stood in the empty room and looked up at the portraits. Mackey, Smith....And then the one labelled Bridgens. Exactly the same picture as the article in my pocket.
I biked back to the library and entered through the side door. Tracey was telling someone,"Lou said he'd be back any minute..."
"I'm here," I called, and my son and daughter came around the corner.
"Daddy!" Paul announced happily. "We had pizza!"
I hugged him. "Yeah? Was it good?"
"Yeah!"
"How's it going, Dad?" Tif asked as she came around the corner in her wheelchair.
"Pretty good," I said. "May have solved at least one mystery. But I owe Joby a nickel."
"Well, cool. What now?"
"I gotta do some work on tracking down the, ah, houses of ill repute in Lock Haven."
"Houses? How many did we have?"
"I have a line on at least four. Lock Haven was once known for this stuff."
"Gonna write an article?"
"I'm thinking of headlining it Oral History."
"Please don't."
Paul sat down at my desk, tapping on my computer keyboard. "I am writing a article," he declared. "About Bigfoot."
I smiled and gave him a hug.
"That's my boy."
