RIVER CITY JOURNAL: ONE LIFE'S END STIRS MEMORIES OF COURTSHIP

Lives have chapters. One of each just ended. The life was your mother-in-law's. The chapter spanned the 31 years you knew her.

When this chapter opened, you were dating her daughter. In just a short while it was decided a weekend trip to meet your future wife's parents was in order.

There are any number of stories that have become part of the family lore regarding that first weekend trip and subsequent visits to the small farming community just off the interstate about an hour from Kansas City.

The one your sons like best is about the time you made a return visit to the small town to meet the woman who was now your fiancee. Since her hometown was halfway between where she was going to college and where you were going to college, it was a sensible place to meet. It had snowed, and there were sizable drifts alongside the highway. When you got off the bus at the filling station by the highway, you decided to walk the mile or so into town. You weren't able to walk on the shoulder of the highway because of the snow, but every time a vehicle approached you climbed up on the snow to get out of the way.

You noticed a car coming toward you, and the closer it got the slower it went. You thought it might be your future wife coming to pick you up, and you climbed up on the snow to get out of the way. Just as the car got to you, it came to a dead stop. Unfortunately, the grain truck from the elevator in town couldn't stop in time and bumped into the rear of the car.

The people in the car got out, and the driver of the grain truck got out, and they all started looking at the rear bumper of the car. As a material witness to a fender-bender, you also went to look at the bumper. Meanwhile, a passer-by had gone into town to summon the town marshal, Charlie. Soon Marshal Charlie arrived.

The marshal had on a small-town police uniform, but one side of his shirttail refused to stay tucked in and flapped in the winter breeze. The metal star pinned on the jacket he wore was shiny. A gun was in the holster that was slung low on Charlie's hip. You were later told that no one had ever heard that Charlie ever fired the revolver. Some even said he had no ammunition for it.

Charlie nodded to the driver of the car with the bent bumper and to the driver of the grain truck. "Hi, Charlie," they said.

He walked over to you and stared for a moment.

"Just passing through?" he asked.

You said you were spending the weekend. He asked if he could see your driver's license. You said you weren't driving anything, but you thought the drivers of the car and truck might have licenses he could look at.

Charlie placed his hand on the grip of the revolver. Heck, he didn't need bullets. Just the idea he might draw the gun and point it at you was enough.

You quickly tried to explain you were walking into town and the car slowed down and the grain truck rear-ended the car when the car stopped for no apparent reason, since you were standing on piled snow off the roadway at the time.

If you have ever lived in a really small town, you know that by now most of the town knew there was a major police incident and accident on the highway into town, and most of the town had jumped into their cars to have a look-see. There you were, curious eyes trying to figure out who you might be related to or if you matched any of the posters at the Post Office. There might be a reward, someone several yards down the road muttered.

The two-lane highway was by now a veritable parking lot of gawkers. The drivers of the car and truck were sitting on the hood of the car smoking cigarettes and chatting amiably with their friends and neighbors while Charlie handled the investigation at the crime scene.

After what seemed like an eternity of commotion that made very little sense at all, the marshal, who had been writing all sorts of notes in a small notepad with a stubby pencil, asked where you were planning to spend the night.

You said you were on your way to see Jerry and Beulah Nichols, because you were engaged to their daughter.

The marshal peered into your eyes. He broke into a broad smile. "Well, good golly. Why didn't you say somethin'? You need a lift? Here, let me give you a ride into town. Jerry's at the shop, and Beulah is at the beauty parlor. Haven't seen Margie yet this weekend."

Who needs cellular when you've got Charlie?

Every time Beulah heard this story, usually at a family gathering around a bountiful dinner table, she would laugh and laugh about how her future son-in-law was almost told to get out of town by sunset.

By the way, on the ride into town, Charlie turned on the siren in the police car so the sightseers would get out of the way. As you rode along, you looked down at the marshal's gun.

There were no bullets.

~R. Joe Sullivan is the editor of the Southeast Missourian.