Sic Semper Tyrannis

Pure, Simple Fantastic Part II.

II.

For whatever reason there was one day I indeed had my precious time alone in that rear seat. It was a typical hot Savannah summer day, the sun just pummeling down as if Mother Nature had seen enough and finally decided to get rid of the humans. On top of that was the fact that the station wagon offered little to no measurable air conditioning, especially all the way back in the Crow’s Nest. TV chefs and cooking personalities talk about “sweating” vegetables in a frying pan. Maybe Mother Nature was a carnivore, preparing a chubby kid snack for herself.

Despite the hellacious heat, heaven was simultaneously present. After all, this was a beach day.

It’s about an hour’s drive to Tybee Island from where we lived, which is approximately 4,200 minutes or 70 hours in kid-time. Days at the beach weren’t an all-too common occurrence for the Stutzman clan, probably because it’s no “day at the beach” for parents to cart around three boys constanty fidgeting while they face the prospect of aging at seventy times the normal rate, arguing amongst each other, facing traffic, the heat, the temperamental A/C and just the general ludicrousness of life.

The drive out to the island was an observant kid’s dream as far as scenery goes: past the Krispy Kreme, turn right onto the long boulevard with palm trees planted evenly in the median, one for every local soldier killed in battle (if I remember correctly), huge rollercoaster bridges that seem to give the car wings to glide above the saturated marshes and millionaire homes and boats and gray sand and the families of crabs that live in pockmarks of the stinking, salty ground, past the old civil war fort where something important surely happened amongst the man-made mounds and tunnels and cannons, the bricks and bars. I’ll never forget the significance of the violin and bow found in the moat and displayed at the fort’s museum, surrounded by black-and-white sepia photos of those stoic civil war guys who all looked like Lincoln, gazing off to the photo’s edge, silent. I always wondered, “Who has time for violins when a civil war is happening?”

But today was not a day for the civil war. I had bigger fish to fry.

In the seat next to me, in a carefully sealed Zip-loc bag, was a crack team of military commandoes, a beach assault team- the likes of which the world had never seen assembled: reporting directly to me was Duke, the First Sergeant and natural-born leader. The importance of this mission could not be overstated and for times like these, you need cool heads in control.

Handling communications was Breaker, whose job always seemed a little nebulous to me. He didn’t even carry a gun. But I’ve never been a technical guy and was sure he was handy for something. Probably making phone calls on his fancy headset.

Providing versatility with the crossbow, (a genius idea- a bow and arrow held horizontally) was the fiery red-head counter-intelligence soldier Scarlett. Also important as a source of boobs for distracting the enemy.

Bringing the heavy firepower was Rock n’ Roll, his blond hair and manly beard a reminder of better times, when toughness could be measured by the amount of hair on your face or the number of keyboards you had on stage in front of you or the length of your cape.∗

In case of trouble, it’s always a good idea to have a teacher. Thus the inclusion of Spirit and his trusty eagle buddy. And speaking of trusty animal buddies, Mutt and Junkyard were called up for service for this mission. Unfortunately the dog disappeared- probably into the recesses of the house, under a couch or other inaccessible cranny. Mutt never seemed to be the same without his dog. He was a “dog handler” after all. His whole identity was stricken. This is why specialization is a very risky undertaking. Markets dry up. Funding disappears. Schools of literary criticism become passé.

Also storming the beach that day would be Snow Job, the arctic trooper.

Finally, as an early demonstration of my seeking the best in people, the white ninja Storm Shadow was also enlisted, despite his history of working with the enemy and the red cobra image right there on his uniform. Still, if you sent an army of ninjas to any war… Plus, in a rare reversal of Western mores and fashion, Storm Shadow wore white while his “good guy” counterpoint, Snake Eyes wore black.

I always felt mildly jealous of the kids on the G.I. Joe commercials. They would get to play with the coolest new figures and vehicles amongst the most awesomely exotic locales. Granted, what looked like a swampy landscape on the planet of Dagobah was in actuality a corner in some drafty television studio soundstage. But today I was going to be one of those kids. I would have miles of actual coastline, the wispy salty wind, the sand dunes and beach grass…all of it real.

∗ Applies only to Yes keyboardist Rick Wakeman, who by all observational accounts was the model for the Rock n’ Roll action figure.

posted by Mike @ 7:39 PM