Novella - Unwanted Dog : Unwanted Dog-17 by Brett Matthew West Artwork by lynnkah at FanArtReview.com |
Vernon Dalhart, who's recording of the "Wreck of the Old 97" became the first million selling Country song, recorded "The Prisoner's Song" on August 13, 1924 on the Victor record label in New York City. "Wreck of the Old 97" was its B Side (flip side).
It is thought more than seven million copies of "The Prisoner's Song" were sold as well as more than one million copies of the song's sheet music. I could well relate to a portion of the song's lyrics. "I'll be carried to the new jail tomorrow With the cold prison bars all around me And my head on a pillow of stone And there I'd be willing to die" *************************************************************************************** *************************************************************************************** DERIVED FROM THE MID-16TH CENTURY LATIN, THE WORD PRISTINE IS AN ADJECTIVE DEFINED AS UNSPOILED, NOT CORRUPTED, NOT POLLUTED. Pure. Free from contamination. Not one bit of which described Hermitage Hall in all of its non-shining glory. Can somebody explain to me how Hermitage Hall could possibly have enjoyed its exhalted reputation in Nashville as the finest facility of its kind for wayward boys, and a wide mix thereof? Some of them headstrong, obstinate, and rebellious. Others, like me, self-willed, stubborn, and perhaps even a mite recalcitrant. Our uncooperative attitudes towards authority, and the established order we disagreed with, always displayed, mostly in peaceful ways, unlike the violent protests of extending the Viet Nam War that happened all around us. The murders of four college students by Ohio National Guardsmen at Kent State probably one of the most extreme examples of these tits for tats. Appearances deceive, perspectives betray, and false fronts mask realities. Meted out consequences for the simplest inappropriate misbehaviors swift and severe, boys were required to toe a mighty thin line. Commonplace, physical injuries and emotional traumas, as well as random atrocities committed against residents by Hermitage Hall staff remained unreported, probably to this day. I was eating. No, I guess I should more correctly state I was playing with my breakfast...again. Something I did with most of the pig slop thrown at us boys two, or three, times a day when they fed us our allotted intakes. Served on a cob, starchy maize wrapped in a husk, and soybeans, the most important protein source for feed farm animals, frequented most dining expeditions. Served with regularity, rancid and festered sausage patties were the norm. What looked like nodular acne decorated the meat, so did a slight ooze of blood when it was spread apart. These, and rubbery eggs, were the gruel of the morning. Probably made from a combination of potato starch and cellulose, or some such concoctions, their whites and yolks mixed together. These imposters were indeed fake eggs, and frigid, as usual. There was no juice, no fruit, and no toast. The lame excuse they gave us was, "The toaster is on the fritz. Be thankful we went to the bother of feeding you ingrates at all!" Although I did not have much in the nourishment department the day before, I wasn't about to swallow the putrid decompositions they served us either. I was consumed in the middle of a daydream, when an announcement broadcasted over the PA system loud enough for a deaf elephant to hear. That was never good news. "9-9-5-1-3, get your goat-stinking ass in my office. IMMEDIATELY!" Several boys in the cafeteria who heard the proclamation whispered among themselves. I heard a couple say, "Umm! You are in monstrously B - I - G trouble, Brett!" Their stress was on the spelled out word "BIG". Annoyed, my plastic fork sailed into the middle of my water cup. A bit splashed over the edge of the Styrofoam. I did not wipe the mess up. "What else is new?" Alex Carson gasped, "Tubbo called you by your resident number, not your name!" He inhaled suddenly in astonishment and foreshadowing of the deed's meaning. It seemed I always remained in boiling hot water at Hermitage Hall over something. I felt singlemost so. All of us knew being directed to King Tubbo's office was to be avoided at all costs. That dungeon stayed a place we did not want to be found. I had no desire for an encounter with him, or his flaunted girlfriend, Big Bertha. I heaved my chair back away from the table and stood up. The motion made a loud squeak on what remained of the ancient linoleum covering the floor. Several boys who heard the commotion laughed out loud. "I know what this is about," my tablemate Robbie Kowalski said. Agreeing with him, I knew my fate too well. "I'll probably get a real good lecture for breaking Tubbo's Number One rule." Without much sympathy, Robbie stated, "You're the one who run away, Brett, and got brought back by the coppers!" "News travels fast in this small town," I replied. Before I moved, four hands tightened firm vice-like grips on my shoulders. Pain radiated down my arms and out my fingertips. It coursed through my torso and cascaded down into my feet. Gobsmacked expressions ornamented the stunned faces of boys around me. An eerie silence descended over the room. I was a blighted malefactor of King Tubbo's reprehensible henchmen. "You were summoned to the office immediately two minutes ago," Joshua Tobias said. "When Superintendent McClellan calls that is more than ample time for any of you boys to respond. Let's go, Ratbag. You are in deep kimchi!" Bart Lassiter informed me. (TO BE CONTINUED:) In Chapter Eighteen, I am confronted by King Tubbo for my daring escape from Hermitage Hall.
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Brett Matthew West
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