Return to Sender

By Jacques Graber

A son who loves his dad in his youth discovers through his adult life, a long lost secret story about his father, his father’s murder and through his probing investigations, he relives his many wonderful childhood memories, enjoys his visiting friends and with their help, he finds the perpetrators and develops an even stronger reason for the powerful love and bond he long held for his dad.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Mar 25, 2024
• ISBN: 9781663260208

Book preview

Copyright © 2024 Jacques Graber.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

iUniverse

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.iuniverse.com

844-349-9409

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

ISBN: 978-1-6632-5967-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6632-6020-8 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2024902385

iUniverse rev. date: 03/20/2024

Contents

Chapter 1:  John’s Growing to Manhood

Chapter 2:  Twenty Years Later

Chapter 3:  Done for the Day

Chapter 4:  Homecoming

Chapter 5:  Rebirth

Chapter 6:  Lost Time

Chapter 7:  Death’s Signature

Chapter 8:  Passion’s Horizon

Chapter 9:  A Path into the Past

Chapter 10:  Dad’s Refuge

Chapter 11:  The Lightning Strike Tree

Chapter 12:  On the Trail

Chapter 13:  Flight to the Past

Chapter 14:  Clues in Trophies

Chapter 15:  Closing in

Chapter 16:  The Past Revealed

Chapter 17:  Deductions and Deathly Past

Chapter 18:  A Return to Sender

Chapter 19:  New Beginning

Chapter 1

42101.png

John’s Growing to Manhood

J ohn Turner is silently lying on his back. The slender teenager is quietly relaxing on a large gray rock; its surfaces burnished smooth from eons of wind, snow and ice working its faces by gradually grinding and polishing; the stone mass buffed to a soft sheen. The young boy is lying in a calm repose on the shore of a high mountain lake. He is basking in the soothing glow of a warm afternoon Wyoming sun. A gentle breeze is wafting across his smooth skin as the leaves of aspen trees subtly rustle overhead. His close friend Kirby, calmly lies next to him, also peaceful and relaxed; lying quietly on his back, one hand resting lightly on John’s chest. As John gazes upward, he sees the leaves’ brilliant green glow contrasting brightly against the intense blue of the high mountain sky; their shadows cast flickering mottled shades of dark and light on John’s body, which is stretched out on the large flat stone. One solitary cloud drifts lazily overhead and spins frail tendrils of brilliant white aimlessly into the surrounding field of blue; the vaporous threads disappear into the aquamarine sky.

The last shining remnants of cooling lake water are dripping in tiny sparkling glassy beads off Kirby’s hand then down the midriff of John’s body; leaving thin shimmering streaks on his skin. The crystalline droplets collect in little dark gray puddles on the rock under John’s back. They fade on the weathered limestone with the warmth of the smooth gray rock where he is stretched. The aromas of wet water-moistened rock, the mountain pines, the wet sandy beach and new summer’s growth plus his and Kirby’s own recent expulsions of passion commingle in the afternoon air.

John can feel the soothing radiant energy of the smooth sun-heated rock against his back as the evaporating and cooling water bathing his torso disperses in the warm sun.

His chest is rising and falling with his rapid breaths from their intense releases. Kirby’s hand rides with the silent tides of John’s breathing. The breaths’ movements are reflected in the faint glimmers of his red hairs beginning to sprout in their adolescent dawn on his abdomen; the fine shafts catching the rays of the brilliant sun. The little glints of glowing red are sparkling across his stomach with its rises and falls showing the signs; a subtle hint of the hormonal fires already seething inside him. The gentle curves of his stomach are pulsing with the rapid beating of his heart in counterpoint to the slow ebb and flow of his breaths. He turns his head slowly to his right to see his classmate and new-found friend, Kirby Hartford, lying quietly beside him.

Facing John, Kirby gazes under tousled locks of fire red hair, through deep blue eyes at his companion, content and with secure comfort in their solitary place.

A lock of his own wet auburn hair falls across John’s emerald green eyes as he silently gazes at his young friend.

Kirby slowly reaches out with his slender ivory complexioned hand and gently brushes the still wet tendril of dark auburn hair from John’s face. John can see Kirby’s chest is also rising and falling equally intense as the two boys consummate once again a newly discovered common bond. The fiery tingling glow, enhanced by the subtle cooling winds passing over him, fills John’s senses and it slowly ebbs with the passing minutes.

Time to get up, Sonny! The call seamlessly blends into the sounds of the young boys’ rapid breaths and gentle winds agitating the aspen leaves, softly rattling around them.

Rise and shine, you need to have your breakfast and get Skywalker ready for your rodeo debut!

The soft chatter of summer-green wind-whisked aspen leaves and Kirby’s gently smiling face slowly fade to be obscured by the sounds of dishes softly clattering and a wagon wheel ceiling chandelier- its copper metal lampshades reflecting the early morning sun glimmering through John’s bedroom window. Wall shelves populated by minute Star Wars action figures gazing quietly down on the young man lying in his warm bed come into his view. His rapid breath and the warm sensation of his dream still remain. Apparently, John has fulfilled at least a part of his morning’s dream event.

I hope Mom doesn’t find this. John silently ponders as he clambers from his bed, his pajamas sticking to his stomach and inner thighs.

The inviting fragrances of bacon, pancakes, hash brown potatoes and brewing coffee for Mom and Dad are wafting into his still dimly-lit bedroom. The aromas sneaking in under the door and commingling with his own recent activity’s scents fill his nostrils. John strips off his still slightly sticky pajama bottoms and quickly stuffs them under his bed, naively hoping his mother doesn’t find them TOO soon. He takes up his bathrobe hanging across the back of his oak-wood study chair. He slips it over his lean shoulders and cinches the brown terry cloth belt around his waist; dashing across the bedroom and narrow hallway into the bathroom to shower.

OK, Mom, I’m getting ready! He shouts to his mother to let her know he’s up and not ignoring her or possibly prompting her investigation.

He flings the shower door open. After first getting the faucet flowing and the water nice and hot, he takes off his bathrobe, tosses it onto the wicker hamper by the bathtub and clambers into the stall.

He immerses his slim body in the stream of hot water and immediately scrubs off the product of his mornings’ spontaneous activity. With that task complete, he sets about his full grooming; the warm water deluging across his lightly tanned smooth skin. Wriggling scintillating streams of hot water flow down across the tuft of dark brown pubescence showing the early signs of John’s growing masculinity.

Today is the big day. Uncle Walters has been urging John to try Juvenile rodeo over the past year or two; the relative in-law pushing his dad to get his young son to at least try it once. He even went ahead and bought a horse; giving it to John last year as a birthday present so he could practice in preparation to make his first attempt. What is it about relatives living vicariously through their siblings’ offspring? John felt as long as he had to try, he might as well name the animal after something he likes; one of his favorite movie characters. John opted for Skywalker as the name of his new steed; a jet-black young stallion with an incredibly brilliant white mane ending with a star on the horse’s forehead; evoking images of a comet and its white tail streaking across a black midnight sky. Dad spent all of last summer and fall teaching John the basics of barrel racing, calf roping and the other Juvenile/Beginner entry level rodeo events. John practiced and practiced, rising early to do these regimens in addition to his other ranching duties; those the typical rural boy would perform in ranch living. He was sure to master them as he knew he would be under the critical observation of many of the local judges as well as his peers attending the same school as he.

Fully showered and clean; John dashes back to his bedroom and quickly slips on a brand new pair of denim jeans. He is already opting for not wearing underpants. He found it felt much better while riding a horse than wearing constricting, binding underpants under already snug fitting jeans and bouncing on a horse’s back. It did show his endowment a little better than the other kids but he didn’t think so much about that than the comfort. He continues dressing, putting on a fresh new dark green western-styled long-sleeved shirt with a deep yellow piping around the seams on the shoulders and pockets. Pearloid snap buttons finish off the western elegance common at rodeos.

He finishes by slipping on a new pair of rich golden brown cowboy boots Mom bought especially for this important day. The smells of new leather and denim fill his nostrils.

Fully dressed, he opens the bedroom door, strides across the living room, the new boots thumping loudly on the wood floor and steps proudly into the little well-lit kitchen. His hat just barely clears the overhead door lintel. Mom is dressed in her western styled attire to compliment her son’s western regalia. She is finishing preparing the last of the pancakes. The tall stack of other freshly created treats lies hidden under the chrome serving dome resting on the counter next to the stove, keeping them warm.

Hi, Mom! John opens his day with a short but cheery greeting.

Good morning Sonny! Are you ready for your big day? Mom responds back warmly.

Dad walks into the kitchen by the side entry that leads out to the barn and livestock areas. He has finished hitching the horse trailer to Effie; the old blue and white Ford F-150 pickup that has been a trusty workhorse at the ranch ever since Dad brought them there from his franchise business in Denver. Mom gave the old pick-up that name before John was born; just a part of his mother’s light hearted perspective on life; a macho ranch truck named Effie; from the F part of the model name.

Jake Turner joins Mom and son; the three sitting down for a hearty meal that should keep them going through the Juniors events.

Dad gives his son the final tips, guidance and mind tests, refreshing his son’s memory to the strategies of the various competitions. The boys’ barrel racing would be the first event, testing horse handling skills. John feels pretty confident he will do well in this event. Being light weight, he found he can accelerate quickly and maneuver swiftly. The calf-roping; well that’s a different matter. With his light frame and weight, roping even just a spunky calf will be a test of his strength and heavier boys would have a bigger advantage in this ordeal. His slight build is not conducive to throwing down a wriggling, struggling calf. He’ll just go through the motions as best he can just to satisfy his uncle. Dad didn’t maintain the pressure to have his son compete as a great priority as much as his uncle. Several arguments between Jake and his Father in Law had already erupted; rodeo, football, hunting, all falling on disinterested ears from both Jake and John.

John finishes his breakfast and excuses himself from the table as he dashes out to the barn to get Skywalker ready for the day’s travel and events.

John loads the saddle, bridle and blanket and some feed for Skywalker into the horse trailer. He concludes the sequence by loading his horse into the trailer last so the animal wouldn’t get hot or uncomfortable or bored just standing in the closed quarters of the trailer.

John ponders, do horses get bored?

Mom and Dad come out to see how Sonny is progressing. Finished with the loading and preparations; John dashes back into the house. He puts his hat on his study chair, brushes his teeth, combs the deep auburn hair and recovers his gray Stetson hat from the chair back, dashing back out the bedroom door. He strides back to Effie and clambers into the back of the cab, sitting down and buckling his seatbelt. Mom climbs into the cab and sits in front of John.

Dad secures the house. He walks back to the truck, drawing the ignition key from his pocket. He climbs into the driver’s seat and inserts the key into the ignition. Effie growls to life and settles to a low purr as she warms up.

Everybody set? Jake makes one last check with his passengers before departing.

Dad puts the vehicle into gear and the whole assemblage slowly moves forward; the gray pea gravel crunching under the eight wheels’ payload. They circle around the small grove of aspens Dad planted a couple of years ago when they first moved to the Easy EJ Ranch. The three continue west to the main access road to the EJ that leads out to the county road beyond.

The drive takes about two hours, where they arrive at the rodeo grounds. The place is a-bustle as families from the local area are arriving for the day’s event to start at 9 AM. Dad locates the competitors’ parking area, driving Effie and their attached trailer alongside another pickup with a larger trailer built for four horses; obviously a serious competitor or maybe a family with two or even three kids in various events. Mom takes John to the registration table where she signs him in and collects his competitor’s number and events schedule. Mom looks over the events schedule as Jake arrives with Skywalker saddled and ready to ride.

The barrel races start the junior boys’ events alternating with the girls’ events Ms Turner announces to John and Jake as she is pinning John’s contestant number to his shirt. The calf rope and ride follow. We have two hours until John’s first event with the barrels. The kids are some light entertainment with the bull and bronco events in the afternoon. She continues.

Jake advises John. Go and take Skywalker and do some light riding for a warm-up... to get used to the feel of the horse before your first event. Also, better be at the start gate a little early before you’re scheduled to ride Son. It’s good to be relaxed than all keyed up when you do this stuff. Jake finishes.

OK, Dad John complies eagerly as he takes the reins of Skywalker from his dad.

John leads his black and white stallion away to a large open area where several other boys and girls are practicing their maneuvering.

As John is quietly checking his saddle, another young competitor walks over to him. The boy is stockier than John and a little shorter; short cut blond hair bristles out from under his dark brown hat.

Hi, kid the boy greets John.

Hi. John responds back while checking both the horse’s bit and his potential competitor.

This your horse? the boy queries inspecting Skywalker with a critical eye.

Yep. John responds. His name is Skywalker, he continues.

Skywalker? The other boy responds with a puzzled look. Why Skywalker? the boy continues his interrogation.

I named him after Luke Skywalker in Star Wars. I thought it’d be a good name. He’s fast like he could run through the sky. John finishes his reasoning.

Mine’s named Firebrand. the stocky boy proudly announces. He’s ornery and don’t let no-one ride him ’cept me. The other kid proclaims. I bet Firebrand can beat your Skywalker." The boy continues with a challenging grin.

We’ll see when the barrel racing happens whose horse will be faster. John responds quietly but confidently.

The shorter kid looks at John with disdain; not appreciating the level-headed reaction from him.

I have to go practice. John closes their brief encounter. He sets his left foot into the stirrup and hops up fluidly into the saddle, striking a confident pose on his black and white mount.

A little annoyed, the other boy hops onto Firebrand and trots to another part of the practice area, hidden among the other boys and girls preparing for their events.

Satisfied with his practice, John finishes his warm-up and directs Skywalker to the start gate for his first event. He checks in with the event coordinator. John is number six of six boy competitors for the barrel racing. That’s good, he can see how the others do and gauge what he need do to keep abreast or better the others’ performance.

The kid with Firebrand arrives at the check-in and the attendant has him scheduled for number three in the sequence of competitors.

Good. John muses. This will let him gauge his progress and he might be better able to pace himself and not make any mistakes. If he can beat this kid, then that’s good enough. Anything better is icing on the cake.

All of the competitors are signed in and set for their order of entry. They wait as the adult men’s steer roping competitions are carried out. The man at the Public Address booth announces the boys’ first event, his tenor voice echoing over the open arena where the crowd is looking on from weathered dark green wooden grandstands that stand behind tall dark green wood planked enclosures separating the spectators from the competition area.

Sun-faded billboards are painted directly on the walls to advertize all the local businesses. Brilliantly colored pennants flutter in the light breeze on all sides of the competition area. Soft instrumental country music wafts over the arena to fill the dead periods in the activities.

The first competitor is placed in the starters’ stall; a tiny boy in brightly colored shirt and blue jeans sits on a minute horse. All John can see from his vantage point is a small light brown hat barely bobbing over the top edge of the starting stall gate.

John watches as the first rider bolts from the start gate. He is a younger boy; a little munchkin on his tiny pony. The barrels are almost taller than he as the young kid and his little mount dart around each obstacle. Making his rounds, scurrying past the barrels in miniature movements, the boy dashes back to the finish as quickly as the little pony’s legs can muster some speed. The rodeo announcer concludes his account of the little boy’s ride and notes the time to complete the course. The audience cheers in approval of the little tyke’s performance. The second boy is a little older and slowly makes his way through the barrels, being careful not to hit them or fall off his steed. The young boy makes his attack on the barrels with fervor, tackling each one in good fashion. Also being smaller, his little horse’s legs have to make ground with a lot more frantic strides than the larger horses. He dashes back to the finish as the announcer summarizes his technique and also relays the boy’s time to the spectators.

The stocky kid with Firebrand, competitor number three, takes his place in the start stall. Firebrand looks restless, whether anxious to perform or disturbed by all the commotion around him, it’s difficult to determine.

The gate opens and the boy and horse dash sideways into the arena. The stocky kid gets his mount under control and they make their loops around each barrel. Although he carries out the first turns around each obstacle competently, his stocky build and size seem a bit overmatched for the smaller horse. They wend their way sluggishly around the barrels; carrying out clumsy loops around the red and white painted cylinders lined up in the arena. The boy rounds the last barrel at the far end, tipping it over as he weaves his way back to the start. The crowd lets out a disappointed moan at this unexpected mistake. The announcer quickly comments on this major gaffe to the crowd noting the boy will have to be eliminated for knocking over the obstacle.

The big kid finishes the last three barrels just to complete his event and returns through the gate yelling and obviously angered over his blunder. When he dismounts, he glares at John as he passes by.

Competitor no 5 sets himself up in the start stall. John watches as the taller, slim boy on his beige horse darts down the course.

He weaves around the barrels, smoothly negotiating the loops with ease, making no mistakes during his heat. He clears the barrels and returns to the start gate easily.

He’s my real competitor. John observes as the boy finishes and disappears into the throng of people.

It’s John’s turn now. He senses that tingle of excitement and tension in him; almost like that feeling he gets from his newly discovered sensation he is enjoying in his secret encounters with Kirby.

John climbs into the saddle. The cheers from the rodeo audience can be heard. He can look over the top rail of the start gate and see the barrels lined up down the length of the arena. Skywalker appears calm despite all the noise in the arena and the activity around the gate. John eyes the course; his line he will take to the first barrel; following his dad’s coaching advice.

John is given the start countdown and signal. The gate snaps open abruptly; the expanse of the arena is now apparent. It looks like the Great Plains stretched out before John; the last barrel looks like it’s as far away as Saint Louis.

John swiftly starts Skywalker, directing him out the gate and immediately dashing toward the barrels. When John and Skywalker lunge from the gate, he notices the crowd’s loud cheers, but they seem to fade as he begins his concentration on the challenge at hand. All he seems to notice is the rhythmic thumps of horse hooves on the soft arena soil. Brown dust rises in little puffs from each hoof strike. He feels he is right on the path he laid out with his mind a moment before. The first cylinder rapidly looms before him. He makes his loop smoothly and heads for the next obstacle.

Barrel one; good.

John and his horse spin smoothly around the bulging red and white scuffed obstacle; gliding effortlessly around it and moving on to the next one.

Barrel Number two. Everything is going perfectly. I’m going to speed up a little, it feels good.

Barrel three, John takes it a little closer to cut time even more. He comes out of the tight loop and directs Skywalker to the fourth goal.

Barrel four! John mentally tracks his progress. He is sure he is well ahead of his first two adversaries.

Finishing the final left turn loop, John makes his way back toward the last three barrels to finish the sequence.

He is feeling like Luke Skywalker flying his X-wing fighter down the girth of the Death Star leading to its final demise.

Just as he finishes that final outbound loop and Skywalker is faced up. Suddenly the horse is acting as if startled. Skywalker panics into a sideward turn left so John is thrown off trajectory from his intended return path with the final three weaves through the barrels. John is in a silent panic as Skywalker accelerates uncontrolled toward the eastside wall of the arena. The announcer is puzzled as he cites the second-by-second account of John’s precise and now suddenly misguided ride. All John hears is tinny vocal noise as he strives to re-gain control of his suddenly wayward mount. He is headed directly for the arena’s side barriers and grandstands.

Fortunately, Skywalker veers slowly to the right when he sees the weather-beaten wood wall and the grandstands behind it looming before him. John sees startled faces of spectators peering over the top edge of the wall as he and Skywalker lean to the right and careen perilously close to the faded wooden planks.

Rawlins Western Wear in faded gold-yellow letters looms huge as a bus as John and his horse race past the billboard mounted on the arena’s weather-faded dark green-painted wall. Suddenly John feels an instantaneous pull on his left leg and a brief sharp pain in his left calf. He doesn’t look down still trying to get control of the horse. John has re-gained a modicum of control and he veers Skywalker slowly back toward the center of the arena. He has already passed the last three barrels as he curves back around toward the middle of the arena.

Finally getting Skywalker calmed, John takes full control of the horse and for at least some honor, to let the spectators know he’s capable, he directs his steed to complete the last three barrels and back through the finish gate. Two rodeo clowns are giving pursuit, not sure John might fall or maintain his tenuous control over Skywalker.

The announcer, exasperated by the surprise turn of events, at least gives John the dignity in recognizing his getting Skywalker back in control, averting an accident and even completing his event, albeit a bit long in timing. He traces John’s flight to the last second at the finish gate.

DANG! John thinks to himself, now highly frightened and charged with adrenalin, after the harrowing incident and careening into the finish area. He dismounts Skywalker as quickly as he can. Getting off Skywalker, John, sensing a burning and torn fabric, reaches down and looks at his left leg and the area he felt the tug and pain. His new denims are showing a two-inch angled rip in the dark blue fabric.

Greenish powdery smudges are visible across the left pant-leg up to his knee and lower thigh; obviously, he made close contact with that old wood wall; rubbing worn paint onto his new denims. He can feel a slight piercing pain from the area beneath the tear.

He reaches down and pulls the torn blue denim up as best he can and finds a two-inch scrape and cut across the outside of the calf.

A small stream of blood is emerging from the thin red scratch mark. It stings but it’s not a major gash at least. The Levis are shot though. I must have caught a nail in the boards on the wall, John reasons to himself.

Mom and Dad push through the crowd surrounding their son to get to him.

The announcer can be heard through the public address system trying to analyze the incident, to relay to the crowd what just happened to John and his horse.

Something must have really spooked that horse seeing how John Turner was riding so smooth from the start. The narrative continues. He sure did a good job putting Skywalker under control though. Let’s give him a round of applause for a job well done! The announcer concludes. The crowd can be heard granting John the recognition for his effort.

Jake and Evelyn finally locate John standing with Skywalker in a throng of onlookers and rodeo staff questioning him. A couple of rodeo monitors are trying to calm him. Others are querying him to try and find out what happened out there, trying to make sense of his sudden wayward path. Another rodeo volunteer arrives with a small first-aid kit, retrieving a small cloth, antiseptic and bandage to put on John’s injury.

The First Aid attendant finishes his medical care and releases John to his parents. Mom and Dad take John from the crowd of curious onlookers and rodeo staff and remove him to a quieter place.

"Are you OK, Son? Dad asks in his usual caring but masculine fashion.

I’m OK, Dad, I got a little scratch on the wall riding past it but I’m OK. It tore my jeans, though. John replies obviously shaken.

Mom continues. Do you want to do any more riding today, Sonny? Knowing full well the likely response, seeing how obviously frightened her son is by that forty seconds worth of high speed, careening ordeal.

No, Mom, John quietly responds, still holding Skywalker’s reins.

Jake takes the leather strap from his son’s hands as the three walk quietly back to Effie and the trailer.

Dad takes the saddle and bridle off Skywalker and puts them in the trailer along with the blanket. He leads the horse to the back of the trailer.

Mom gives John a cup of cool water from a Thermos to calm him and cool him down. After giving the horse some water, Jake guides the black and white stallion into the trailer, securing the tailgate after him. With the trailer’s tailgate locked, John, Evelyn and Jake climb quietly into Effie and Dad starts up the truck.

The three sit quietly for a moment as Effie warms-up. People outside, who recognize the boy from his wild ride, look on as Jake puts Effie into gear and they start to leave the rodeo grounds.

A rodeo staff person runs up to Jake as he begins to drive, tapping on the driver’s window. He motions for Jake to roll down the window. Jake turns off the ignition and cranks the window down.

"The judges were discussing the incident and learned about the cause of your horse’s panic.

Some spectators in the audience and two judges happened to see the window from a car out in the parking lot flash from their angle just as your horse bolted. They said it was awful bright. It looks like the horse got spooked by the light. Though John didn’t finish the course, the judges said his time-split up to the fourth barrel was excellent, well ahead of the fifth competitor, good enough for first prize and they decided they’re going to reward him the Second prize making up for the danged good way he got his horse back under control. He at least deserves that for the barrels. The official hands over a small plaque and a small purse of cash for the second place win.

Look, Son. Despite your panicked race, you still got a Second Prize for the way you handled Skywalker. Dad announces to John proudly.

John looks at his dad with a smile, but that still doesn’t diminish the fright he feels right now following this brief bout with fear and collision with that wall. The sting in his leg is stronger as his body’s self anesthetizing instincts diminish.

Congratulations, John! The rodeo staff person finishes as he smiles at John in the back seat of Effie. He gives the boy a vigorous handshake. John smiles quietly, still in shock over his careening adventure.

Jake starts the truck and they head back home to relax after this harrowing day.

That following Monday, John is walking down the hall at the high school to his first morning class. From down the cavernous hall with hundreds of kids flowing through to their school day’s beginning, John hears a familiar voice, one of the popular kids known for his athletics; the football team and even in the local rodeo activities.

Hey, Space Cowboy!" What happened to your rocket ship?!! Did ya get caught in a cosmic storm?!!’ Laughter fills the background following the boy’s joking query.

The boy walks past John giving him a shove as he passes, his friends are laughing vicariously through their gang leader’s action. Other chides followed over the next few days.

Even though John won Second in his event based on the judges’ evaluations of his overall riding during the panicked start, John still faced jokes and ridicule from his classmates who attended the rodeo whether as spectators or as contestants. They did not learn of the second place win in the barrels or ignored its announcement despite his experience.

Even after explaining the light from a car window had startled Skywalker, his classmates just saw that as a made-up excuse and joked about his aberrant race. He told Kirby the details of his scary ride and his friend is the only one who believed him.

After that incident, John never again desired to compete in rodeo. Skywalker was for enjoyment, John taking him on rides into the hills occasionally when not taking his preferred bike rides with Kirby into the hills behind the ranch. Kirby didn’t like horses and preferred his bicycle, which suited John just fine. John also ultimately knows it will be his intelligence that will get him ahead in life, not his athletic prowess. Let them live in their little world of glory.

Chapter 2

42101.png

Twenty Years Later

T he courtroom is crowded to capacity as people are overflowing into the adjoining polished gray marble hallway. A throng of bustling attorneys’ aides, well-dressed in suits, along with messengers and reporters sporting casual attire, is filling the foyer. A restless incessant clamor of clicking shoe heels and footsteps, rustling paper, voices in conversations, on cell phones, video equipment being moved, cell phone ringtones and dialogues fills the crowded room.

Newspaper reporters, television cameras, TV and radio newscasters, bloggers and droves of small, independent journalists and reporters fill the press gallery. The heavy patinaed bronze and glass doors to the Courts are lazily swinging open and closed as bicycle couriers are dashing in and out; their colorful helmets and bulky courier bags slung over their shoulders can be seen weaving among the press corps and others in the flow of people. Court messengers and aides are rushing about the halls with packets and files, relaying messages to van crews, outside or reporters and attorneys inside. A phalanx of cameras poised on spindly tripods is jammed into a small cordon to one side of the court room. Bloggers are sitting in folding chairs, their laptops perched on their knees, many already hectically working, their fingers dashing swiftly as little tap-dancers on the keyboards relaying the latest on-site developments to their internet subscribers worldwide. Other people who arrived late are jammed as tight as sardines in the narrow polished granite and marble-lined halls of the California State Supreme Court building in Sacramento. The majestic snow-white Classical façade of the State Capitol building across the street gleams brilliantly in the afternoon sun. The stately Victorian landmark rests on a low bluff beyond a row of tall palm trees; its grand bronze and white-columned dome rising above the Governor’s offices and legislatures, presides over the court building. The whoosh and hum of passing downtown traffic gently filter into the Courts building through the open courtroom doors.

Press, spectators, supporters and opponents of the controversial same-sex marriage-denying Initiative, Proposition 8 fill the courtroom and halls and are rapidly gathering outside on the gray granite front steps leading up to the Court building. Throngs of energized demonstrators on both sides are displaying and waving hastily scrawled and professionally polished placards, banners and picket signs bearing slogans, phrases and quotes from the Bible and the Constitution. Voices are passionately raised and fingers pointed, hands waving and fists clenched as the confronting factions verbally debate the ongoing issues in the warm spring day setting. Television and radio satellite broadcast trucks and vans are parked in the roundabout that lies between the State Courts and State Library buildings and on the adjacent streets.

Other media vehicles are taking up positions parked in the street alongside the courts building. Their antennas, mimicking strange giant alien blossoms, are directed skyward, poised for transmitting the latest closing arguments and statements for and against this divisive and emotional first round in the beginning of a long battle for Marriage Equality in California. A flower-adorned fountain cheerily bubbles and sprays in the middle of the roundabout, the crystalline water sprays twitching erratically in the gentle spring breezes. Immense, deep green cypress trees tower over the whole plaza casting deep shadows across the pavement and lawns embracing the circular drive. It is in peaceful subtle contrast to the manic human intensity filling the area.

Since the questionable vote was offered to the California electorate, preceded by the endless barrage of slanderous and untruthful campaign ads and fake authorities from the Proposition 8 proponents, countered by arguments from professional psychologists, sociologists and other experts in human relationships providing supporting evidence for marriage equality, culminated in its passage and eight months of heated debate in editorials, opinions and television discussion statewide, the battle has moved to what is promised to be a long, slow inexorable climb up a legal ladder of State and Federal court judgments, appeals and stays; the litigative ping-pong of who’s right and who’s wrong in the expanding debate. It is the first chapter of this Civil Rights saga starting on this day.

Newspapers, magazines and television and radio programs throughout California have brought forward a steady, seemingly endless stream of news stories, opinions, discussions, blog posts and readership comment discussions on the Internet and in print. Dialogue, both reasonable and irrational, truthful and slanderous has emanated from these sources, reflecting all points of view from religious zealots and pro-8 spokespersons and alleged experts, to legitimate professional psychologists, clinicians, and legal and constitutional lawyers, as to the Constitutional validity, or not, the moral or not, the Civil Rights arguments or not perspectives for their positions. But despite the boiling maelstrom of hate, passion, lies, contempt, truth, facts and logic, science and pseudo-science, an oblivious consideration of the frothing sea of verbosity-legal, pseudo-legal and religious, the real outcome of this fight for equality will boil down to several attorneys civilly arguing their cases, for and against the Proposition 8 decision, in the hands of three California Supreme Court Justices, and possibly over a period of several months and years, ascending to successively higher court levels, as judgments, appeals, more judgments and further appeals leaning on ever more absurd reasons drag the cases out.

In the end, the Justices will decide the final judgment that will act as the coup de Gras for Civil Rights and Marriage Equality, or in favor of purported religious moral standards, only to implode in appeal and then ascend to the next level of decision.

The final decision comes after these closing arguments and the three justices have considered the arguments. And surely an appeal will take the case back for another round of hearings at the next level.

John Turner, is but one of the legion of many lawyers and legal experts who has come to Sacramento this warm spring day to help in setting the case in support of Marriage Equality, determined to break the Proposition 8 agenda and end this ongoing feud once and for all. Small armies of legal staff, attorneys and aides have descended upon the court building for both sides to deliberate in the civilized environment of intelligent legal discourse. Though rationality may be of some question in certain arguments, at least civility will prevail, in contrast to the boisterous confrontations taking place outside in the Cyprus-canopied shady court yard of the State Courts and Library buildings and boiling in editorials and opinions pages in newspapers nationwide. John hopes that with all the data, legal precedents, court cases from prior Civil Rights battles and pure logic, their arguments will be indisputable and the Equality side will eventually win, sending Proposition 8 drifting down like torn paper into the dustbin of legal history, serving only as the case example for further legal battles in other states undergoing the same absurd, time consuming contentions.

John is tall and slender, his complexion is tanned, clean and blemish free, aside from a small scar on his left cheek from a childhood incident, while camping with his dad. His many adult life outdoor interests including sailing, kayaking and cycling, keep him lean. His mid length dark red-brown hair frames his piercing iridescent green eyes set abreast a sharp nose that accentuates his angular good looks. His salt and pepper goatee shows a touch of time and wisdom, framing an assertive chin and lips. As he is chatting with fellow attorneys, a passing quip sets his lips into a gracefully curving smile as he ponders the subtle legal humor of the jest.

Hailing originally from Wyoming, John was raised in the wide open ranchlands along the east flank of the Rockies. At a very young age, he was not a strong and resilient kid physically. From taking the brunt of fellow classmates’ jokes, though, as he grew older, he leaned on his own determination to become more self-reliant and confident in his own intelligence and character rather than physical strengths. Growing close to six feet tall by sophomore in high school and though not physically commanding in the athletic sense, his mere stature kept the other kids at bay. As he grew older, he came more to savor the outdoors, enjoying fishing, horseback riding and hiking in the back woods and mountain forests near their ranch, with his dad, Jake and bicycle riding with his close friend. John’s dad, Jake, began his own younger life in a humble beginning as a sheep herder and oft times functioning in an odd-jobs kind of life, herding cattle, rustling horses and other short term ranch tasks as needed. As Jake grew older, he became more established, got some connections through marrying Evelyn, his wife, whose father managed his own business.

Jake hired in to his father-in-law’s business, Walter’s Ag Supply and Implement and soon was representing a prominent company selling ranch and farm equipment and supplies, quickly becoming the top sales rep and earning a good living at it.

His reputation grew and he set out on his own, forming his own enterprise. His business territory soon grew, covering the Wyoming, Colorado, Montana, Arizona, New Mexico and western Texas region including the Rocky Mountains. He gained good earnings and reputation from sales and commissions in his father-in law’s company but soon in obtaining his own franchise and his own regional office, became strong competition to his Father in Law.

He was able to set aside money and purchase an old abandoned ranch in the northern Wyoming country. He then moved there in his later years with his wife and John, traveling his northern sales territories from this ranch home base when his productive life was suddenly cut short by a tragic accident. When the accident occurred, it had been reported widely in the local newspapers and trade bulletins It is said Jake was killed when the split ring from the rim on an agricultural machine he was repairing in Colorado had dislodged from the wheel and struck him across the chest, killing him instantly.

While Jake was raising his young son, he recognized immediately his son’s good standards in school. When Jake was working on home issues, he noticed John had a fascination with the legal issues his dad was contending with in his ranch operations dealing with water rights, land issues and Native American issues in their area. John’s interests in things cerebral would get him and his dad into frequent arguments with Jake’s father in-law. Some occasional spates erupted between father and father in-law over John’s lack of interest in football, and the other sports popular with the kids and adults in his region, hunting or ranching. Instead, John enjoyed reading books and playing with bugs, lizards and frogs or looking at some of his dad’s ranch managing tasks. His mother was not too disturbed by her son’s interests over ranching and other farming, other than to make sure he did his own duties and chores on their ranch while he was growing up. John’s good high school grades and his father’s intuition to set aside a fund for his later education enabled him to attend classes at the University of Wyoming. John continued his schooling at the University, living with his widowed mother at the old ranch Jake bought. With his dad’s help and support in building up an education fund, John completed his first four college years. He was in the University at the time when a young man who happened to be in his class, Matthew Shepherd was murdered by three men. John read of that cold morning, when cyclists found the young man tied to a remote Wyoming fence after being severely beaten and left in the intense winter cold to die. That event still haunts John today, a stark reminder how hate still permeates America’s culture and that he has decided to devote his time and energy in some way to do something about it.

When he finally graduated from the University and was free to choose his higher education, he felt liberated. Law became his calling and he soon pursued that goal, moving to Los Angeles. With his legal internship completed and attaining his Bar, John set his sights on solid civil rights litigation and cases. By 1999 John was well launched in his career in Law, working with a major firm in the Los Angeles area, focusing his energies on issues of civil rights. His early law studies brought him back to the Matthew Shepherd case and trial and ensuing convictions. It was this kind of law, injustice, hate crimes and civil rights and issues of prejudice that Turner was drawn toward. He grew to like this attraction to the underdog, the disenfranchised, this sentiment possibly stemming from his own early childhood when he was a skinny tousle-haired kid, not the ideal model for the popular rugged cowboy west life.

He soon gained a solid reputation arguing cases for plaintiffs on civil rights issues of housing or child custody for same sex couples and adoption disputes and even some early bullying court cases. He represented plaintiffs in anti-gay job discrimination cases, union disputes and benefits denial fights. He dealt with gay-bashing cases including injury and in some instances, murder. It was through a recent court case involving discrimination on religious bases which he succeeded to win, that got him into the cases of two gay and lesbian couples demanding marriage but being denied under Proposition 8 grounds. Being involved with the legal team setting the opposing arguments to the Proposition 8 stance of reproduction as the basis for marriage, John was asked to join in the legislative team to combat this controversial initiative.

After eight long, tedious months of discussion, argument and rebuttal between sixteen attorneys and countless witnesses, eight Justices will soon decide the fate of marriage equality or the continuation of religious tradition, at least in this round. Today is the presentation of both sides and then final closing arguments to make the case in support for each side. This process with the closing arguments from both sides will help to set the trend for society for years to come. As the Religious Right’s pundits put it, the War of Armageddon is being fought here in California, and they are committed in stopping it, while the Equality side promises to end this unreasonable infraction on personal rights once and for all, making this the death knell to be consummated within days of these arguments.

John Turner, Attorney for civil Rights advocates, no longer a shy, skinny little kid from Wyoming, is now a statuesque figure. Standing 6 feet 3 inches, he bears many of his dad’s features. When he speaks in a courtroom or hearing, John instills a commanding presence. His sharp, clear voice projects an assured confident tone in any debate, court confrontation or challenging circumstance. With a team of supporting attorneys and aides and representative attorneys from several other civil rights organizations, they enter the courtroom at the Plaintiffs’ benches opposite their defendant opponents, supporting Proposition 8.

The white marble paneled Court room is bustling with moving humanity; echoing with the sounds of chairs, papers, conversations, cameras, reporters and broadcasters, while viewers are settling down in the gallery behind the mahogany wood railings dividing the court.

The dark grays, browns and blues of court attorneys’ suits, the press peoples’ clothing colors show in sharp contrast against the gleaming white marble walls of the courtroom. Reporters’ voices can be heard introducing viewers and listeners to the upcoming proceedings, interrupted by the sharp tack-tack of shoe heels on the marble courtroom floors. The subtle din subsides as the Justices are announced by the Court Officer. The three Justices file into the chamber and take their positions behind the dark massive mahogany bench in their heavy carved oak chairs. In their black robes, they sit in stark contrast to the white polished marble walls and inlaid colored stonework mosaics behind them.

All in attendance are directed to stand until all the Justices have entered and are seated, whereupon the audience and attorneys quiet down and silently take their seats. The Court Officer announces the Justices and the hearings begin with the discussions of the current case.

Chapter 3

42101.png

Done for the Day

W ith the final statements and counter statements presented by each side; the attorneys vying for the tactical advantage to sway the three Justices in deciding proposition 8’s fate, the final closing arguments are presented and with those, and the strike of the Justices’ gavel, the hearings are declared adjourned. The audience and attorneys rise from their chairs and the noise of the people packing their folders, briefcases, and other materials grows. John packs his documents into his briefcase, while he discusses some basic plans for the upcoming steps in what is sure to be an appeal from the opposition. He bids a gracious acknowledgement to his fellow attorneys and leaves for the courtroom door. Wading through a phalanx of outstretched arms wielding microphones and recorders, he responds to endless barrages of questions about the hearings, what was said, key statements he recalls and any hint as to the Justices’ reactions to the deliberations. John offers brief statements, mostly that no decision by the Justices will be made at this time and that it may require several weeks or longer before a judgment is handed down. No decisions were made and the justices will study this case thoroughly before handing down any judgments.

Leaving the bustling throngs of reporters inside, who are moving on to ask other attorneys their questions, John steps out of the air-cooled court room into the bright, warm, California Central Valley afternoon sun-dappled entrance to the court building. More reporters and cameras are waiting for the courtroom occupants to exit. Again he courteously responds to reporters that no decisions were made and it would be several weeks to months of intense scrutiny of the arguments by the Justices, before a decision would be handed down. Announcers’ voices can be heard relaying this new information to television audiences and newsrooms all across the nation and some worldwide. The news vans are active with support engineers monitoring the batteries of transmitters, monitors flickering in the recesses of the many vehicles parked about and other equipment sending signals out through the huge antennae to audiences worldwide.

Finally having answered all the queries as adequately as he felt was necessary, John heads toward his rental car parked in a public garage nearby. Two younger legal assistants are accompanying him as he proceeds to his car. They discuss the day’s hearings and in the discussions, he provides directions and points in where they will likely proceed from here.

One of the legal assistants accompanying John is a young energetic woman with long straight brown hair, dressed in a dark blue mid-calf skirt and matching button up jacket with a cream colored blouse. She is discussing the next steps with another twenty-something staff paralegal, a clean-shaven young man with black, well- groomed hair and sporting a grey pinstriped suit and blue tie with a light yellow shirt, as they jot down points John is relaying to them.

Already it is a long drawn conclusion whoever loses this judgment will immediately file an appeal on this decision. Ultimately it is anticipated it will be settled with the Federal Supreme Court.

The trio crosses through the tree-shaded roundabout, between the Court and State Library buildings, passing the large round central fountain, which is cheerily spraying streams of water upward in the afternoon sun. The tall stately dark green cypresses on the grounds shade the group from the warm spring sun, their feathery boughs of dark needled foliage hanging lazily off the long bowed branches. The gleaming white capitol building shines brilliantly in the western sun as they walk past it to the garage. The traffic noise on the street is quiet relative to the din of reporters they have just left. The voices of religious Prop 8 supporters and pro-marriage demonstrators can be heard nearby, fading into the traffic sounds as the three walk past the Capitol building, toward the garage. They pass two Proposition 8 proponents who are distributing anti-marriage leaflets, condemning, gloomily that same sex marriage is the collapse of civilization and it’s the War of Armageddon. The three attorneys politely refuse the offers from these purveyors of deception and continue to walk up the street to the parking garage across from the capitol. The small group arrives at the garage and takes the elevator to the third floor where they have parked. With their latest directions given them by John, the two aides bid him so long and head for their rental car which they will take for the short drive to the airport and their flight back to the Los Angeles office. John has a few more legal errands to attend to before he goes to the airport and boards his flight to Wyoming to see his mother and to help out in the final closure of the ranch where she has lived since her husband bought it in 1980. Jack saved up those extra earnings from his machine sales and with the interest gains, from these investments, he had saved enough to put down a large deposit on a nice little 300 acre spread up a quiet little valley near his old hometown in Wyoming. It also happened to be near his father in-law’s ranch located in an adjacent valley. Both places lay on a broad grass-mantled plain overlooking a long valley that lay alongside the eastern flanks of the majestic snow-capped northern Rockies. Jack’s ranch was situated at the narrower end of the small valley with low hills converging to the east about a quarter mile away; the pine covered ridges rising in a nice arc around the fertile flat grasslands where the little ranch presided. A few pines studded the flat valley floor lying to the west of the ranch, but most of the land was cleared decades ago by previous pioneers and ranchers, leaving a spectacular panorama for Jack and his young family to enjoy.

Jack had a natural instinct and he had set up a pretty efficient operation where he was raising a small herd of cattle, alfalfa in the spring and dry crops like oats and wheat later in the summer and fall. He rotated his crops, feeding his cattle off what he grew and selling what extra he didn’t need.

He hired a small crew of ranch hands that knew what was necessary to maintain the ranch while Jack was busy with the Ag machinery business, growing bigger in his sales and management duties.

When Jack died, he had the ranch well equipped and manned sufficiently so all his wife had to do was manage the books and make sure the chores required of the crew were maintained and completed.

But time was catching up. Ms. Evelyn Turner was getting older and she was beginning to feel the ranching duties were becoming a bit too much to manage for her. She has decided maybe it is time to sell the ranch and buy a house in town nearby or move to Los Angeles and live near her caring son. To help with this transition process, John arranged to spend a couple of weeks’ vacation with his mother to settle the ranch details and help her get on with her new life, no matter what path she may decide.

With all his current legal errands complete, John gets into the silver sedan, starts it and drives down the concrete ramps of the garage; tires subtly squealing on the smooth concrete surfaces as he heads for the exit gate. He waits for the traffic to speed by then lunges into the flow, heading west for the airport. His flight is scheduled for departure in about two hours so he has plenty of time for the short drive to make the terminal. He turns on the radio and heads out the street, past Caesar Chavez Park and the state buildings, the city hall and federal buildings, to the freeway. He vaults onto the overhead Interstate, across one of the two larger rivers that flow lazily through Sacramento, past spreading suburbs and business parks and the last remnants of valley grasslands between the rapidly spreading city and the airport. He makes a few short phone calls while he drives, switching on his hand free phone, he makes his first call. He keys up the first number and speaks into his ear bud, glowing blue in the shaded car.

"Hello! Sebastian! John here. How are you doing, dear? I’m all finished with the court hearings, and on my way to the airport. I should be there in about 20 minutes. How is your day going?

Hi, Hon! Oh, it’s going very well so far. I’m putting the finishing touches on the Phoenix Office Complex we’ve been working on. The plans are going along very smoothly. A couple more days and we should be getting it to the clients for their final review. It will be nice to get this one finished!"

Will you be completed as planned so you can come, stay with mom and me at the ranch? John queries anxiously.

Yes! It’s looking very good. In a couple of days we’ll have a better idea what may or may not need to be changed in the final designs. You know, there’s always a change with these things!

Wonderful! The hearings went very smoothly. Their arguments, as all along, had absolutely no substance! I’m sure we’ll have this one in the bag. Of course, it was the usual stuff about God, sin, Sanctity of marriage, the old litany of reproductive importance, you know, you gotta breed to make marriage legitimate and legal, that kind of stuff. I feel like we’re back in the Salem Witch Hunts! I thought burning at the stake was so Eleventh Century! Anyway, when I get to the ranch, I’ll call and get the latest update on your situation there. Talk to you soon! Love you!

Love you too! Ciao!

John taps in another number and gets the dial tone.

This is Paul Marcus, I am currently unavailable, please leave a message after the tone and I will get back to you…

"Hey, Paul- John here! I’m off to the airport, heading for the ranch. Call me when you can. I’ll be seeing Mom and we’ll discuss your idea! I like it and I’m quite sure she will too! If you can, come on up and I’ll take you on a personal tour! You’ll enjoy the scenery and the clean air compared to that in LA. Plan a couple