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Show PAGE 3 THE ZEPHYROCTOBER 1992 Before I threw them in the Amazon, I got out my knife and " "OK," I said. 1 think I get the picture. "1 think those little patches are still in Washington somewhere. They don't throw anything in away military intelligence." "No...no," I considered. "I suppose they don't." Armando gazed down the main street of Pat's Me town, a place that has hardy changed since he chased Nazis in Brazil "I was eager to get out of there and back home after all that," he said. "So when those Amazonian women captured me and held me prisoner for three months, I was very upset" The bubble popped. "OK Armando. You've gone too far. I've believed you up to now. I've actually believed every word you've aid..Why, I don't know. But Amazonian women? Come on!" "You don't believe me? Armando looked wounded. "OK," he said, shaking his head. "I will have to show you. He unbuttoned his shirt cuff and rolled up his sleeve. On his arm, starting near his shoulder and extending all the way to his wrists, I noticed the strangest scar I have ever seen. It spiraled all the way down his arm, wrapping it completely every couple of inches or so as it descended I-- . toward his hand. "Do you see the scar?" he asked. "Do you see it?" Once again, all I could do was nod "That is from die leather restraints the Amazonian women put on me. Jor three months, they never took it off. Just then, Phillip poked his brother in the ribs and said, "It's time to go, Armando. Let's go. Armando shook my hand. It has been a pleasure talking to you. We should get together again some time. Td like that, I replied. , He took off Us ball cap one more time to wipe the sweat from his brow. When he did, I noticed two deep scars on the top of his hold, directly above each eye, but above where his hair line used to be. "As long as you're describing your scars to me, Armando-whe- re did you get those two scars an the top of your head?" Armando stroked them gently with his hand, as if it was helping to recall yet another adventure. "Oh yes..J remember these scars. They are from an operation. The doctors said they had to do it because I was too homy. The answer to all these questions ls...yes. And one more thing. It was where we went because we all cared about each other. We are a moody group, the flummoxed flock; it was where we went for a shoulder to cry on, and to provide a shoulder when foe favor needed to be returned. It was a place to share triumphs and sorrows as wefl. We laughed till we hurt, argued till we ached, and shed a tear or three. That's what families do. Last month, the Rappes sold the Broiler. The new owner, Mark Horwitz, will maintain most of the Broiler's traditions and, as is completely natural, add a few new ones of his own. Years from now, when Mark has grown weary of foe restaurant business, he may very well hear foe same laments that Carl and Debbie are hearing now. But if you'll excuse me for a minute, Mark. Right now I feel like an orphan. And to the Rappes;, like Cue's last words to Woodro-w- "It was quite a party. a NELSONS HEATING and REFRIGERATION sewing Moab since 1962" 1070 Bowling Alley Ln. 259-562- 5 "WHAT?" I cried. "Goodbye;, my friend, he grinned and headed for foe car. "Wait a minute, I yelled. "Was any of that foe truth?" "Believe me when I tell you. ..It was all foe truth." Armando turned foe key, the engine started, he put the car in gear, and roared onto Main Street throwing gravel and a doud of dust as he and Phillip made their grand exit Pat and Sue and I watched foe car shrink in foe distance. "What do you think, Fat? Was all that the , hanest-to-gp- d truth?" "Jim," she said wisely, patting I decided she was right me on the shoulder, "never question foe OSS." If I and more than a few other Moab locals have looked lost and forlorn lately, there are, actually many reasons. We are, tq use a word I heard lately, but had nearly forgotten. Jhrtnmoxed. We are the terminally confused. My cohorts and I watch, with ever growing perplexity, foe changing face of Moab, the irrasdble county commissioners, and the doggedly determined "Bookdiffs Guys. We argue among ourselves about my man. Bill Clinton and wonder how the Cubs could even consider letting Andre' Dawson go. Flummoxed? Damn right we're flummoxed. (Although I recently asked Kyle Baily if he had been flummoxed lately and he said, "No...I haven't had an enema in years.") In any case, while we may have been confused, we knew where to go to commisserate. We always wound up and subsequently unwound at Carl and Debbie Kappa's Main Street Broiler. The Broiler was more than a place to eat; it was where foe family gathered. Going to foe Broiler has always been an adventure. I never knew when I stopped by in foe morning, whether I'd find foeir 3 year dd boy Seth swinging mercilessly at golf balls with an oversized putter, from his favorite tee near the espresso machine. I have an annoying habit..OK I have many annoying habits. But in the morning, I like to drink my coffee from a cup with a white interior. I like to be able to see the color of my coffee. Debbie used to shake her head and say, "Why do we attract foe weird?" as she fished out one of only two cups on the premises. Later, I learned to humor her and find foe cup myself and, eventually, even gained kitchen privileges so that I could wadi it myself an those occasions when both of my cups were dirty. The Rappes were notorious for keeping some of the most irregular hours in foe history of restauranteerlng in America. We used to keep track of the number of consecutive days they stayed open, and at one time, I considered starting a lottery to turn a little profit from their erratic hours. We never knew just what the reason for their inconsistency was. They had a little sign that said "CLOSED DUE TO EQUIPMENT FAILURE" and Pastor Don would nod understands g)y and say in his Texas drawl, T guess that means Cad's brain has shut down once agsin." We'd grumble and complain and swear we'd never eat there again. And then the Rappes would hang up foe "OPEN" sign and we'd all come back and pick up where we had left off. We all wondered why we did always come bade. Were we masochists? Were we controlled by some homing instinct like the swallows to Capistrano or the buzzards to Hinkley (Ohio)? Was it their ? espresso machine? Was it foe fact that Debbie, mother of four, is still a white-interior- ed ' robo-babe- subscribe to THE ZEPHYR P.O. Box 327 Moab Utah 84532 one year (11 issues)....$15 two years (22 issues)...$28 three years (33 issues)..$40 Color processing 35 mm -- C 41 process T name address renewal SAME DAY SERVICE IN by 10 AM BACK by 4 PM (south side of Miller's. 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