OCR Text |
Show ' ; 8 m w . : , iMu: SALT FLAT NEWS, FEBRUARY, 1972 By Tim St. Clair It was hot. But it wasnt an ordinary hot. It was a Nevada hot. And Nevada hot is a special breed of caloric measurement. When it is hot' in other places, it may be sticky hot or muggy hot or heady hot. But when its hot in Nevada it registers not only on a thermometer, but with your entire being. It is much like the feeling one has when g one dreams of a mad, killer who has one knife-wieldin- and is expelling dry blasts of carbon dioxide on the back of ones neck. Now magnify the feeling on the back of the neck to cover the whole body and you have the half-strangl- . ed feeling of Nevada hot. Anyhow, it was quite warm as I have established. I happened to be in a gas station in the middle of Nevada and was taking in the delights of the little shade to be had. The office of the station afforded some comfort from the wilting effects of the sun so I decided to take advantage of this fact. Unfortunately, a considerable crew of my fellow humans had made the same observation and, consequently, the same decision. So a seething mass soon assembled within the confines of the office in pursuit of what had now become fleeting comfort. With the accumulation of a small crowd in the office, coupled with the fact that the human body is 90 percent water, it became not only hot in there but humid. Everyone was aware of the fact but we all stood there quietly turning the area into a sauna because it was hot outside and, after all, man is the reasoning animal or some such notion. Included in the conglomeration of people were employees of the gas station, passers-by-, friends, travelers and assorted other persons. The great issues of . . . the day were one by one cranked through the melee. Each was subjected to arduous scrutinization as many difand then solved-wit- h as ideas assinine there were fering, people in the room. (The author makes this point only in the inter-- ' est of journalistic style and not as a means of enlightenment. The reader must certainly have predicted the above eventuality with any situation involving more than one human being.) They discussed every problem imaginable and many others that were unimaginable and even more besides that. No problem was too minute or too monstrous to escape the scathing opinions of that bunch. The discussion went on for some time until I feared for mankinds intellectual future. However, my misgivings were soon dismissed. Into the station drove a slightly battered Mercedes-Ben- z load of hippies. One of the seething mass spotted this disgusting travesty and alerted his cohorts. Suddenly the heretofore misguided babbling of the mob began to take direction. The entrance of these shabby excuses for people gave them all something in common to talk about. .But the hippies pulled off a greater coup. They not only provided something everyone present could' talk about, but something everyone could agree on. Those with any recollection of history know that this latter occurance was most noteworthy. A group of humans agreeing on even the time of day is rare enough. Unfortunately, the unanimous opinion was not in favor of the hippies. In feet; the embodied varying degrees , . groups-egree-me- nt . - of their extermination. Luckily it was in varying degrees because total agreement would have been too much for this writer, not to mention the hippies, to bear. The office constituency all agreed that these degenerates were revolting. Communist-oriente- d, perverted scalliwags. They further expressed their ideas as to the general demise of American morality and virtue, as evidenced by the deplorable ruffians that presently inhabited the driveway outside. Outside, one of the sinful 'IJohnson of St. George , Utah, emerges from mysterious well with what he hopes is last gallon of free troupe was stretching out a few of Karl in as his chinks the anatomy gas. Young Johnson struck gasoline almost two years ago while excavating an underground clubhouse. people often do after travelling for any distance. He had dark brown hair to his shoulders and was clad in what appeared to be white Japanese pajamas. His bare feet wiggled as he attempted to regain the circulation in his legs. This sight struck the mob in the office as uproariously hilarious. After a few moments of riotous laughter, one of the larger members of the multitude, being It was almost two years ago that young Karl' Johnson of St: George, while digging an swept up in the revelry, lurched underground clubhouse in his backyard, uncovered the great American dream .At 'eight across the office and stepped outfeet Karl struck what appeared to.be gas not natural gas, but ready-to-ushigh octane, side. Having appointed himself refined gasoline. At first he couldnt believe his eyes, or his nosie, but then when a comspokesman for the group, he shouted toward the invader, panion dropped a candle into the hole, the strange truth dawned with a brilliant flash. Karl reported the find to his Hey buddy! Wheres the viting the neighbors and relatives backyard gas station began to dry circus!? father, Grant Johnson, who natto gas up at no charge, a practice up, and then, to the owners reThis devastating remark urally suspected a trick. But as that won him no friends among lief, the free gas finally stopped. stunned the hippy, but only tem- gallon after gallon of the volatile local service station owners and, Johnson estimates he still has porarily. He marked his stance, liquid continued to ooze to the oddly enough, none among about five hundred gallons on placed his hands on his hips and surface, the impossible became a customers. hand, but hopes to soon see the fact, and eventually a serious said, I guess its right here. end of it. Johnson to says people began This reply lilted across the problem for the Johnson family. To date, no one knows where miat in all a hours, causing pop The to do what over the was, problem group asphalt, nor traffic jam in the driveway. the gas came from. An inspection spokesmans head and smashed with the stuff. Since the artesian to take the free fuel of a nearby filling stations storme right between the eyes, gas puddle posed a fire hazard in People began for granted, too; some even asked age tanks revealed no leaks and no knocking me head over heels into the neighborhood, Johnson was him to check the oil and dues. Other stations in town rewipe the a stack of used tires. obliged to empty the well daily, windshield. ported minor leakage, but said it and during peak production was nothing to worry about If 7H months, twice daily. When the Besides freeloading customers, thats true, observes Johnson, mysterious well began to produce the phenomenal well attracted a there must be a bigger mark up thirty-fiv- e gallons a day, Johnson lot of publicity; the Johnsons than I thought. had to borrow several large story found its way to the pages As for the underground dub-housdrums, and finally a thousand gal- of newspapers as distant as Paris. Karl has given up on the lon storage tank, which was soon Reporters and television crews idea. The gas fumes are still wandered through the garden, full. strong, and Karl says the dugout while visiting geologists probed Johnson decided tankto , try a isnt good for anything except ful of the golden liquid in the the ground with shovels and gettinghigh. This summer Karl hopes to family car, he did, and it worked picks. From Andy Granatelli fine. But' as production steadily came three free cases of gas treat- spend differently, swimming in increased, he found one car alone ment and a T shirt and baseball the family pool and working at couldnt drive back the rising cap wardrobe for the kids, all his new put time job, for which bearing the familiar STP motif. he should be well qualified, as a tide. He decided to give it away, in Three months ago the magical filling station attendant. . la St George ... e, free-loadi- ng e, mso . |