SIR
BURVILLE & THE FEEDE BEASTE
by
Burville “Bud” Wenke
and I worked together as Patrol Sergeants and later Detectives at Firestone
Station. Bud was one of those folks who could be described as a good guy! He
was hard working, ethical, interested in the job and willing to try new things.
He was well liked and respected as an equal by those with whom he worked.
Unfortunately, Bud did have one failing; he was accident prone and seemed
always to be bearing the residual markings of one calamity or another. Some
were his fault and others weren’t. I heard him once described as an individual
who might come out of his house on a perfectly wonderful Southern California
day; a day on which the sun would be brightly glowing, a deep blue cloudless
sky would surround the area and the climate was nothing short of remarkably
pleasant. On that day, Bud Wenke would be struck by lightening!
Bud often did things
that would create circumstances that might lead to disaster. One example
occurred when Bud was using a grinding wheel in his garage at home only to have
it disintegrate and send shrapnel into his face creating a disfigurement in the
middle of his forehead that looked like an indentation in which to place a
precious stone. It was not uncommon to see him limping or moving with some
degree of difficulty on the Mondays following his weekend do-it-yourself
projects. Bud took a good deal of kidding about his propensity for self
inflicted injury with a good spirit.
Although I wasn’t
present for the following event, it was told to me third or fourth hand and I
have a reasonable belief that it has been only modestly altered from reality
and that’s why the disclaimer!
The entire 40 man
Detective Bureau knew something was up with Bud on the Monday morning when he
entered the office with his right hand crammed deeply into his pants pocket. No
one asked initially what was wrong as we watched him try to operate left handed.
He unlocked his desk drawer left handed, he poured himself a cup of coffee left
handed and he even tried to write some notes in his red book, daily record,
with his left hand. All of his attempts seemed cumbersome and unnatural and it
wasn’t until he sneezed and automatically drew his right hand out of his pocket
to stifle the sneeze that the latest affliction was seen.
The end of his right
middle finger was heavily bandaged and that drew an immediate litany of remarks
both clever and crude about what might have befallen him over the weekend. Few
fingers possess the lore and legend of the one that Bud had injured and the
entire Detective Bureau waited to hear the rendition of, “how it happened.”
It took little
coaxing to get Bud to tell the tale and it turned out to be one worth hearing.
It began with the Wenke family loading up into their Ford Pinto station wagon
with the faux wood sides for a trip to the zoo. The kids were especially
delighted to have an opportunity to see the animals that were drawn in their children’s
books up close and personal. Soon the questions began arising from the back
seat; “Can we pet the lions? Will there be real elephants? And of course, are
we there yet?”
They got a parking
space fairly close to the zoo entrance and soon the Wenke family had purchased
their tickets, headed for the entrance turnstiles and had entered the zoo
grounds.
One of the very first
things that the kids saw was a standard at major zoos, it was the petting area.
There, small, docile animals await the ministrations of young visitors who
stuff feed pellets into their mouths with one hand while petting them with the
other. The Wenke children rushed into the enclosure and began approaching the
various critters, only to have them turn away and go to another youngster who
had the food pellets that had been purchased from a machine within the petting
enclosure. Before long the Wenke kids were near tears because the animals wouldn’t
allow them to be near. At that point Mom got into the act and explained to a
rather tight fisted Dad that he would put a quarter in the feed machine and get
the kids the stuff, the food pellets, needed to enjoy their visit or he’d
suffer the consequences!
Bud had been married
long enough to realize that the only answer to the protestation from his wife
was to take from his pocket and squeeze open his plastic coin carrier, extract
a quarter, that wasn’t a collectors coin, and then insert it into the feed
pellet machine. He managed to do this rather deftly and then he turned the red
knob that activated the machinery that released the brown paper bag filled with
feed pellets so that it fell into the tray below. The machine ground and then
clunked but failed to provide a bag of feed into the tray.
Now some say that a
better approach to the problem would have been to jiggle the red handle or
attempt to tip the machine back and forth, to bang on it smartly or to ask one
of the zoo employees for help; but Bud did none of these things. Instead, he
dropped to his hands and knees and opened the small door at the top of the
delivery tray and angled his head around in such a way so that he could peer
into the inner mechanisms of the feed pellet machine. As he did this he could see that his bag; the
one that had cost an entire quarter, was apparently stuck far inside and needed
some help to drop to its final resting place.
So Bud, the same man
who was often subjected to the wrath of the do-it-yourself gods, stuck his
right arm completely inside the pellet machine all the way to his armpit. While
in that position, although uncomfortable he could feel around and claw at the
jammed bag with his longest finger, the middle one. Slowly, the bag seemed to
loosen from the grip of the machinery and a smile began to appear on Bud’s face
as he seemingly overcame the machine that was holding back his children from
their rightful enjoyment of the petting zoo!
The bag dropped and
at the same instant the machine made another clunking sound and Bud found that
this devilish device had now seized his middle finger in the grips of its gears
and was refusing to let him go. He struggled for a moment but found that he was
definitely stuck and in pain from the pressure that the machinery had placed on
his trapped middle finger. Not only was Bud stuck but his position prevented other
families from being able to access the machine and now other children weren’t
able to enjoy the pleasures of the petting zoo because Bud obstructed the use
of the machine and its delivery of feed pellets.
In a relatively brief
period of time, onlookers were complaining that Bud was probably a feed pellet
thief or worse a machine burglar who’d finally received his comeuppance. Some
were even suggesting calling for the cops to come and arrest him. Additionally,
his wife was whispering that they were very embarrassed by his position on the
ground and he could hear his kids, in the background, whining that they needed
Dad to get out of their way so that they could retrieve the bag of feed and
enjoy the petting zoo animals.
Bud began to put to
use all of the investigative skills and abilities he garnered as a Firestone
Station Detective in an effort to successfully solve the dilemma that
confronted him and his family. He recoiled at the thought of either cops or
fireman coming to his rescue and so he was left with what he thought was his
only option. Bud implemented his plan and in doing so he pulled loose his stuck
finger and he left a small piece of flesh from the end of his middle finger and
his fingernail within the maw of the feed pellet machine.
Supposedly, once
free, Buds ensuing yelling and dance routine as he waved his bleeding finger
around in the air before finally clutching it under his left armpit would have
caught the approving eyes of even the most sophisticated American Indian Dancer
appearing at a Pow-Wow.
There was a first aid
station at the zoo and that’s where Bud got some immediate attention for his
painful wound, before exiting the zoo for a rather subdued trip home. One on
which Bud drove totally left handed.
Yes, the kids missed
their chance, that time, to pet the lions and to see the elephants but they did
learn some new vocabulary words from Dad that made Mom pale at their use.
Bud got a lot of
kidding about his misadventure from his fellows at Firestone Detectives. A few
days later a document appeared, written in Olde English style, by an anonymous
scribe, reminiscent of William Shakespeare. The document portrayed Bud as a
Knight, Sir Burville Wenke, and recounted his adventures as a battle with the
Feede Beaste, a terrible dragon who attempted to devour Bud, starting at his
middle fingertip. It got a whole lot of comments and laughter.
The most interesting
call came from the staff at the South Gate Municipal court who wondered about
what they saw when Detective Wenke pulled his right hand out of his pocket in
order to take the oath as a sworn witness in a criminal case; they were curious
about why his middle finger was so heavily bandaged?
Yes, it was just
another day in the never ending and unusual annals of Firestone Station!