BECK N ME: Lotta hot air

By JACK CROSSWELL

He seemed young enough to get an allowance from the tooth fairy.  Off the mountain he came, wearing upscale hiking clothes and a smile.  He walked with a purposeful stride, as if he wanted to save the word.
“This place smells bad,” he said.  “I can see that you guys aren’t into ecology or somebody would clean up this mess.”
    “This barn isn’t after an award from Better Homes,” said Beck, my ole Missouri mule.  “We’re just surviving.”
    “Yes,” said the youngster, “but it smells bad.”
    “You must be a college student,” noted Old Blue Rosenbloom.  “By your looks, I’d say you are a freshman.”
    “Sir,” said the student, “I finished my freshman year.  In a week or so I’ll be a sophomore.  Can’t you tell by my goatee?”
    “I do declare,” said Ratchet Arnold.  “What is going to be your major?”
    “Earth science,” the student said.  “I’m out to help folks like you save the world for future generations.”
    “To me,” said Greg Sayers, “you sound like you’re far to the left…so far that you’d make Obama’s mama seem like Attila the Hun.  I’d bet you’re gonna major in good times.”
    “What has your generation done for the future?” said the student.  “You’ve failed miserably.  Where’s America’s steel mills and manufacturing plants?  You can’t blame it on union labor.  Nonunion factories, like Emerson Electric, moved out, too.”
“You’re very abrasive,” said W. B. Crockpot.  “I think we’ve done OK.”
    “Not so,” said the student.  “In the last 50 years nobody in either political party has tried to develop alternate energy or look ahead.  You even let Hershey’s Chocolates move to Mexico.  I have to say politicians aren’t alone in being short sighted.  Our powerful universities haven’t done anything either.  Their folks just sit back and write papers.”
    Buster Blossom said, “Maybelle, my wife, thinks there may be enough methane gas coming from this barn to energize the future.”
    “She’s a big woman,” mumbled No Fenders McGee.
A retired lawman and journalist, and published novelist, Jack Crosswell lives in Cripple Creek.