Over the next few years, Harley Sadler worked very hard to make his promises come true for the Massengale family. Ordinary people who sweated and bled to pull a living from the West Texas prairie loved Toby. He represented them—good, kind, funny, loving but none too bright. They hated the villains because they were the bankers, the big bosses. The men in black suits could ruin lives with a smile and one single word. “No.”
Heroes were all right, but the farmers knew in their hearts that anyone born with good looks, healthy and strong bodies could beat up the villains. Of course, all the girls wanted to marry a hero. But these folks on the plains saw themselves in the mirror. They knew they were not handsome. They were not the boys who hit home runs at school baseball games. They were not the strongest. They just did not give up.
They were Toby. He was not smart, but he always came up with a plan to save the day. The hero got the credit, and Toby got the horse. Those farmers cried when Toby’s heart was broken, but Toby kept on smiling and kept on being kind.
And through Toby the loyal audiences loved Harley. Harley became their hope. He became their reward for being good even though there was not any money to be made by being good. A man could not feed his family just by being good.
Fortunately for Harley Sadler, he was paid very well for being good—good and funny. Mind you, this was not New York rich or even Hollywood rich. But it was a comfortable living for West Texas. And there was even enough to set aside a big hunk each month so he could keep his biggest promise to the Massengales. He bought his own show.
He marched down the main street of Comanche, Texas, carrying a huge drum on which read, “Harley Sadler’s Own Show.” Half of the cast and crew played instruments and the other half marched in costume holding banners proclaiming dates and times of performances and titles of the plays. Harley forgot to beat his own drum most of the time he was too busy waving and shouting at the crowd.
“Hell, J.B.! Your boy get out of the hospital? He feeling all right?”
He rammed his drum into Sam’s back, who was playing the cornet.
“Why Minnie Lou, have you heard from your daughter? How does she like living up north?”
Harley bumped into Sam again. The actor turned and wagged his cornet in the boss’s face.
“Harley,” Sam announced good naturedly, “you have to get someone else beat that drum, because you can’t wave and talk to people and beat the drum at the same time!”
The showman and the crowd laughed. The parade ended at the gazebo in Comanche town square. Harley put aside his drum, mounted the steps and waved his arms expansively at the crowd.
“Good to see all my friends here in Comanche. The 1927 edition of Harley Sadler’s Own Show will present Over the Hills to the Poorhouse starring the pride and joy of my life, Miss Gloria Sadler!”
Dramatically pointing to a convertible draped with bunting, Harley glowed. Inside the car were Billie, Gloria and Grandma Lou. Uncle Burnie sat behind the steering wheel. Gloria, who was seven years old, stood on the back seat and curtsied. Her golden hair was in sausage curls. Her dress was all ruffles and lace. The crowd oohed and ah’ed.
“Little Miss Gloria Sadler is leaving tomorrow with her grandmother Lou Massengale to start school next week in Sweetwater.”
After a polite round of applause, Harley continued:
“And, as usual, opening night is Ladies Night. That means all you ladies get in free if accompanied by a gentleman who pays full price.”
All the townspeople burst into applause as he picked up his drum and marched down the gazebo steps. The band began playing while the town’s children fell in right behind him. The convertible carrying Billie, Gloria and Lou slowly trailed behind. Two women in the crowd were entranced. One watched Harley and the children disappear down the street. The other craned her head to catch a peek at Billie inside the car.
“He’s the pied piper; don’t you think?”
“Hmm?”
“I said don’t you think Harley’s just wonder with children.”
“I guess.” The second woman sighed in frustration. “Can you see what Billie’s wearing?”
By the time the parade reached the show ground, the crew had already raised the tent and secured the lines. Claude Kelly, a large, bald middle-aged man with thick forearms, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his neck and brow. Harley wandered up and tugged on the guy rope to see if were taut enough.
“How’s it going, Claude?”
“Fine, Harley.”
“Were you able to check into that matter for me?” he asked casually, avoiding eye contact.
Claude looked around to make sure no one was close enough to overhear their conversation. “The local bootlegger runs a taxi.”
“I guess this rope isn’t too loose.” Harley stopped fiddling with the line and smiled. “Now all I have to do is keep Billie away from the taxi.” He began to leave, but stopped and turned back. “Oh, and about that other thing—“
“Word is there’s a poker game in the conference room of the bank every Saturday night.”
“See if you can get me an invite, won’t you, Claude?”
“Sure, Harley.”
Next, Harley walked in the main tent where happy children hurriedly set up chairs. “Good job, boys and girls. When you finish, go to the ticket stand and get your free passes.”
The youngsters squealed and jumped in excitement. Another voice boomed above his head.
“Hey, Harley!”
He looked up at the tent pole and the quarter pole at his side. Burnie was on the quarter pole doing the splits.
“Great trick, Burnie.” Harley cringed as he watched Burnie grin in pride. He was toothless.
“Thanks, Harley.”
“I might let you do that trick in the show sometime if you ever remember to keep your teeth in.”
Harley ambled out the main tent and wandered over to the ticket stand to see how business was doing. He stopped when he saw a young couple fussing at each other. The young woman was fairly good looking, but she was terribly skinny. She wore a dress that used to belong to a sister, mother or even grandmother, Harley surmised. The young man was not much older than the girl. He too was slim but he was straight and strong, wearing freshly laundered overalls and a faded blue shirt. His face wore a permanent sun burn but only half way up his broad brow. The top part near the hairline, which his hat shaded from the oppressive prairie sun, was as fair as a new-born baby’s unblemished bottom. Harley guessed from their posture and eye contact—or lack thereof—that they were not married but possibly on their first date.
“I don’t know why we have to get here so early,” the young man groused.
“Because I want to see Billie go to her dressing room, that’s why.”
Harley smiled to himself. No matter how much of an inconvenience Billie’s drinking was, he was pleased that every woman in every town on the plains adored his wife. She had developed into a very good actress; however, she preferred to play country girl Susie Belle who fell in love with Toby. If anyone was going to kiss Harley on stage, it was going to be Billie.
Night arrived, and the tent lights came on. Parents tried to control their children who insisted on squeaking and chasing each other between the rows of chairs. All the women—including the young lady on her first date, looked toward the back entrance, anticipating Billie’s grand appearance. When she finally arrived through the tent flap, Billie did not disappoint. Her hair was recently permed, she wore a fashionable navy blue dress highlighted by a large, sparkling brooch.
“Here she comes!”
“Doesn’t she look beautiful!”
“She’d be gorgeous in a potato sack!”
“I hear she buys all her clothes at those fancy Dallas shops!”
“My cousin said she saw Billie actually buy something in the Woolworth’s in Sweetwater!”
Anyone could tell by looking into her face that Billie relished the adulation heaped upon her by the country women. After she mounted the stage steps and disappeared behind the curtain, the audience became loud again. Within minutes the band members filed in and began to tune their instruments. Soon the curtain raised and the melodrama began.
Sam Bright, as he grew older, eased from the role of hero to that of villain. A few years earlier, he found himself a pretty, young woman named Faye who, like Billie, melded into the theatre troupe as the innocent heroine. Mike Henderson, who had played the sheriff in the old Fox company, was promoted to the hero. No matter how bad the acting or the jokes, the audience hissed and booed at the appropriate moments and hooted, laughed and stomped the rest of the time.
Harley Sadler was beginning to crack a bit around the edges. He was not the young eager sidekick he once was. But the folks who bought the tickets wanted to see him as Toby, and Harley always gave the audience what it wanted.
In return, the show goers obeyed the rules Harley set forth. If someone walked in staggering drunk, the men in the seats rose quickly and escorted the disruptive fan out. They fastidiously observed the big sign on the upright piano in the orchestra section:
“If the baby cries, please take it to the rear of the tent.”
Each night during the melodrama, Burnie walked the perimeter of the big tent to make sure all the stakes were sturdily hammered into the earth and the guy lines taut and secure. He paused to watch the last glimmering rays of light disappear below the horizon. Every time the audience erupted into applause, Burnie grinned broadly, revealing a mouth of bare gums. He forgot his dentures again.
Billie sat at her dressing table putting on the last of her makeup as Susie Belle, Toby’s girlfriend. Susie usually was the final main character introduced before the end of Act One. She liked it that way. If she had to be on stage at the rise of the curtain on Act One, she would be unnecessarily tense. If she were tense she could not remember her lines. Her ability to retain the script to memory was declining over the years.
Staring into the mirror to make sure the makeup was properly applied, Billie frowned at how unattractive her costume was. Harley may have enjoyed looking silly, but she did not. Her attention wandered over to a framed photograph of Gloria. She was going to be so beautiful when she grew up. Billie worried she would get stuck playing Susie with all her ugly clothes and makeup. Leaning over she reached into a small brown bag to retrieve a pint bottle of whiskey. She took a quick sip and returned the bottle to the bag under her dressing table.
“Decent?” Harley called out from the other side of the dressing room flap.
Billie jumped. “Come in.”
Harley, in full Toby regalia, entered and walked over to put his hands on her shoulders. “Are you ready? We go on in a few minutes.”
“Harley, honey, you don’t have to ask permission to come into my room. After all, you are my husband.”
“It’s just I’m so used to calling out at everybody else’s dressing room.” He smiled.
“Why, you’d think I had something to hide.”
“Now why would I think that?” Hint of sadness and weariness tinged his voice. He put his arms around her shoulders and hugged. Not waiting for an answer Harley went to the canvas flap to lift it and leave.
“Wait, Harley,” she called with urgency.”
“Make it real fast. We’ve got to go on.”
“Why can’t I go home with Gloria and Mama?”
“You can.”
“But I want to be with you.”
He shook his head. “I have to keep the show going. These people need their jobs.”
“But—“
Before Billie could finish Harley cocked his head toward the stage. “Sam just left the stage. We’re next. Come on.”
After he left she put her face in her arms, then looked up and squinted into the mirror. “Susie,” she muttered, “you don’t look perky.” She patted on more makeup. “You have to look as perky as Toby.” Stopping abruptly, Billie threw down the makeup pad. “But I’ll never look as perky as Toby.”
She made it to her stage entrance, which stopped the show. Unlike her husband who worried everyone loved Toby but not Harley, she knew the audience loved Billie and didn’t care a hoot about Susie. Fort a brief moment while the stage lights blinded her and the applause assaulted her ears, Billie was happy.