The Tyler Chronicle            Winter, 2022         Worldwide Edition

 WITHOUT DEADLY FORCE

By Karl Ries

“In a few days it’ll be Halloween again,” Alvin remarked. “Let’s see what kind of spooks will be on the loose that night.” Alvin reached for his coffee as he sat in the diner with two of his co-workers. Jesse and his close friend Harold grinned at the remark. They were all in their twenties and worked at the steel mill across the street.

“It used to be fun, when we were kids. Sometimes it was really scary and I kind’a miss that,” reminisced Jesse.

“Oh come on, guys,” protested Harold, “I don’t remember ever being scared. I always found it all so silly.”

“Silly or not,” Alvin replied, “everybody is scared of something at the right time and under the right circumstances.”

“That may be true,” conceded Harold, “but no phony Halloween prank would ever excite me.”

“Oh yeah? I say that even you would be scared out of your wits if some spook would show up at night in your bedroom.”

“Let him try,” Harold boasted, “I won’t be scared. My trusty revolver in my nightstand drawer would take care of any uninvited spook, real or otherwise.”

That gave Alvin a clever idea. “Well, I’m willing to bet a case of suds that even you can be scared. Is it a deal?”

“Why not,” grinned Harold, “you fix up the spook and I’ll enjoy the beer.”

A strange noise had aroused Harold from deep sleep. He wasn’t fully awake yet but he was listening intently. There it was again – an erie, undefinable sound seemed to come from a corner of his bedroom. It was to dark for Harold to see anything. He carefully reached for the switch of the little lamp on his nitestand, then hesitated, intently listening.

That’s when he heard it once more, this time it sounded even more erie than before. It was like an awful, wailing moan but there was also the faint clatter of heavy chains. Harold turned on the lamp, quickly getting accustomed to the mellow light. Fine beads of sweat formed on his forehead as he discovered that he was not alone. In the far corner of his room stood a hooded figure entirely wrapped in a black cloak. The face of a skull was faintly discernable within the shadows of its hood and a heavy chain hanging from its shoulder was wrapped about its thin waist. The apparition stood perfectly still. It made no sound.

Harold sat frozen in his bed staring at the intruder which still had not moved. His mind raced to comprehend the situation and thankfully grasped the idea that it was just a prank. At that moment, accompanied by the tinkle of the chain, the intruder took a step towards him. Harold had partly recovered his wits.

“Stop where you are or I’ll shoot,” Harold ordered calmly. A sneering sound emanated as the figure advanced another step. With one fluid move Harold took his revolver from his drawer, cocked it and pointed it squarely at the dark shape.

“One more step and you’re dead,” Harold threatened. When the black thing advanced again, Harold aimed and fired.

The noise of the shot was deafening. However, there was just the slightest indication of movement from the intruder as the bullet impacted, but the specter did not fall. Instead a bony, skeletal hand appeared out of the utter darkness of this spooky apparition, reaching for the spot where Harold’s bullet must have hit. It seemed to pluck something out of itself. Then, with a smooth movement, the specter tossed something at Harold. It landed on the bed cover in front of him. Harold instantly recognized it. It was the very bullet he had just fired pointblank at the apparition.

Harold’s hair stood on edge, his jaw trembled but with a steady hand he fired the second shot. The results were the same, only this time a horrible, hollow laughter accompanied the return of the bullet. Acrid powder smell hung in the air as Harold fired again and again, but after every shot, spent bullet was nonchalantly tossed back to him. Then, although Harold tried to shoot again, only an ineffective click could be heard. With the realization that his gun was empty Harold’s body went limp. He fell back onto his pillow – dead.

“I didn’t mean to harm him, Your Honor, and I certainly didn’t mean to kill him,” Alvin pleaded.

“Explain in your won words what happened,” the judge demanded at the hearing.

“Harold, Jesse and I were talking about Halloween while eating lunch the other day,” started Alvin, “when Harold insisted that he could not be scared by any means. This somehow represented a challenge to try and do just that. When Harold further announced that he kept a loaded revolver by his bed and would not hesitate to shoot at any intruder, and idea of how to really scare him presented itself. We made a bet and Harold accepted.

“I needed Jesses’ help since Harold rented a room in the same house where Jesse lived. The two were close friends and Jesse had a key to Harold’s room. Jesse obtained Harold’s loaded gun for me. I loosened the crimp on all six cartridges and carefully removed and kept the bullets from the casing. I then made certain that the powder remained in place by sealing it with a few drops of candle wax. I replaced the harmless cartridges into the gun, knowing that it would sound like a real show when fired, but that it would be completely harmless.

"I dressed up as 'Father Time' and after Harold was asleep, Jesse, using his key, let me into his room. I didn’t know if Harold would really shoot at me, but if he did, I would just toss his projectiles back at him.”

Alvin cleared his throat, but had to wait a moment until he could continue. With a choking voice Alvin added, “Harold did not appear scared. He fired and I tossed the bullets at him. When his gun was empty, he fell back on his bed. At first I thought he had just fainted, but when my attempts at reviving him failed I immediately called 911.”

 REVENGE IS MINE...Another Short Story

By Karl Ries

With reservations, Mark moved into the small apartment he had found in this foreign city. His knowledge of the subject and his fluency in the Italian language had brought the opportunity to teach at this prestigious university in Milan, Italy. Milan, with it’s magnificent Cathedral and its world renowned opera house, the La Scala. Mark was thrilled with living in Italy, a country he had always admired for its elegance, but the scarcity and the price of accommodations had forced him to accept these rather primitive lodgings. At least it was within walking distance to where he would be working, saving him from the tumultuous traffic jams that this otherwise beautiful city was famous for.

His first day at the university had been exciting and rewarding. The faculty had made him welcome and the students cheerfully accepted him. Any lingering doubts about moving to a place so far from home dissolved rapidly.

Mark was on his way to his little flat when a traffic light stopped him and seemingly hundreds of other pedestrians at a busy intersection. Up to then, he hadn’t even noticed the many people all around him. He had been too absorbed with the way his first day at the university had gone. Just then, he thought he had felt a slight bump from behind. As he turned around, the light changed and the masses of pedestrians started moving, pushing him along with them across the intersection.

With no further delay Mark arrived at his new address and swiftly climbed the stairs to his apartment on the fourth floor. In changing for dinner, he quickly became aware that his wallet was missing. The slight bump he had felt, waiting for the traffic light, came to mind immediately. Luckily, he had not carried much money. However, the loss of his credit cards and identification papers caused him much inconvenience and unexpected hassles to say the least.

From now on, Mark carried his papers and his money in a small, unobtrusive pouch which he hung on a string around his neck. Just for the heck of it, he also filled another cheap wallet with insignificant papers and very little change. This he carried as usual in his back pocket. The very next day on his way home, however, this was lifted at the very same intersection.

With Mark’s suspicions confirmed, he wasted no time and started and action of his own. With the help of an acquaintance well versed with chemicals, and with information readily available from the Internet, Mark constructed a very small letter bomb. Small enough to fit into a normal wallet. Its effect would be very localized but, more importantly, very deadly. Next, Mark bought an assortment of cheep wallets from a nearby dime store. To build a small detonator with an effective range of only about a hundred yards was no problem at all for Mark.

With this fake wallet in his pocket and the detonator in his shirt pocket, Mark was ready and very willing to teach an unknown thief a healthy lesson. One evening, as if nothing at all had happened, Mark waited at the same intersection for the light to change and – you guessed it – for the slight bump. He didn’t have to wait long for either. He followed the crowd across and when he felt safe, he reached for his shirt pocket and activated the detonator.

When Mark heard the sound of a muffled explosion somewhere in the distance, not near as noisy as he had expected, he forced himself not to look, but to walk on as if nothing had happened. The next day, somewhere on page four of the local paper, one could read a small article headlined: “Notorious Pickpocket Succumbs to Mysterious Explosion”.

Several more such mysterious explosions could be heard at early evening hours. When he no longer felt the by now familiar bump of his disappearing wallet, Mark found new routes to his flat, frequenting several different busy intersections. Sure enough – there it was again: the familiar bump and then the familiar muffled explosion somewhere in the distance.

By now, alarm had sounded in the underworld of Milan. It wasn’t the Mafia, it was just a band of loosely organized pickpockets that, gotten worried, clamored for action. And action they got. Antonio, considered the master of pickpockets, had a plan. Spies were put into action. It didn’t take long until one of the spies observed what was happening and who was responsible.

Again Mark felt the familiar bump of his disappearing wallet. What he didn’t feel, however, was a much less noticeable touch as his wallet was reinserted into his other pocket. The next day, somewhere on page four of the local paper, one could read a small article headlined: “Foreign University Professor Succumbs to Mysterious Explosion”.  

 

"Mom What Is Peace" by Karl Ries  (A Book Review)

    Prologue from the book...

As a young child in Germany, I lived through World War II and it's aftermath. This book tells of my varid childhood experiences. Imagine how terrible an ordeal it must have been for the German civilian population and for the small child who wrote about it decades later. I strove to portray my impressions in an honest, informal, upbeat and positive way with no desire to bore my readers with negative characterizations or whining self-pity.

Most Americans view Germany of that time as the villain not the victim. The unique element of this book is that it starts out in the style of a little nine year old boy. As the boy grows older and matures, the 'elan of telling his story matures right along with him. Some friends felt that, because of the war, I must have been deprived of a "happy childhood", but this is not so. I percieve that term as relative. I certainly thought of myself as a happy child. A youngster growing up amongst war, bombs, sufferings and death cannot possibly comprehend times of normality, peace and plenty and is therefore unable to draw comparisons. I believe a child's capabilikty to feel happy and make the best of things rests as much on the circumstances of his surroundings as on the individual personality of the child. Unfortunately this often changes as the child "matures". It is also lamentable that such a hostile environment tends to harden a child's perception of the suffering of others and even of the value of a human life. This book was not intended to be a historical reference but rather a narrative of my personal experiences.

The stated opinions, observations and emotions of the different characters are related justs they were encountered first hand at that time and location.

------ Karl Ries.

Karl Ries

Karl Ries was a prolific writer, an avid hunter,  an accomplished pilot and a skilled technician but above all, he was an honorable man. He was a regular feature writer for The Tyler Chronicle and gave us "on the scene" accounts of his many exciting journeys, most notable of which was a trip around the world. He died of cancer in -------, but his writings remain.

"Mom What Is Peace" was a self-published paperback of 221 pages. In all respects it was a top quality book. It is currently out of print and is a much sought after collector's item. It is a "must have" for every serious collector.

--- Editor

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Did It Fly, or Did They Lie?      

Fully one year before Orville and Wilber Wright took flight at Kitty Hawk in 1903, a Texan had already taken to the skies. At least that's what proponents of the Ezekiel Airship story would have us believe. And who is to say they are wrong?      

The Reverend Burrell Cannon, a Pittsburg, Texas minister, who was a lifelong Bible student with particular interest in the biblical account of Ezekiel and his vision of the "flying wheels". But in addition to being a Bible scholar, the reverend was a skilled machinist and an inventor, as you shall soon see.

The story of Ezekiel's wheels fascinated Cannon to the point of obsession, and for twenty years he refined plans and designs for a flying machine based upon the biblical description.

"The appearance of the wheels and their work was like unto the color of beryl; and they four had one likeness; and their appearance was as it were a wheel within the middle of a wheel." Ezekiel 1:16"And when the living creatures went, the wheels went with them; and when the living creatures were lifted up from the earth, the wheels were lifted up." Ezekiel 1:19.

The Reverend Cannon took this account literally and by 1902 he had constructed a full sized craft ready for a test flight

The device was launched from a nearby pasture owned by a man named Thorsell (who also owned the machine shop where the airship was built) and was flown by a "Mr. Stamps" who had worked on the construction of the machine. Those present at the intial flight reported that the airship moved forward a short distance before becoming airborne. It then rose vertically and began to drift. Excessive vibration caused the engine to be turned off and the machine settled back to the ground without accident.

If this account is true, then the Ezekiel Airship, which seems to have been a cross between a helicopter, hover-craft, and airplane did indeed beat the Wrights into the air! But now the story begins to turn muddy.

The contraption was loaded onto an open rail car to be shipped to the World's Fair Exhibition at St. Louis. But near Texarkana, a storm blew it off the car, totally destroying this one and only working model of what may have been the world's first flying machine.

Cannon is reported to have said,"God never willed that this airship should fly; I want no more to do with it." 

But if this is the case, something seems to have changed the inventor's mind, because in 1908, he again sold stock in his airship venture in the Longview area. A second "Ezekiel Flying Machine was built in Chicago, Illinois and was flown by a test pilot named "Wilder". 

But alas! Tragedy struck again. This time the thing is said to have hit a telegraph pole, ripping the bottom out of it. Again Cannon vowed never to build another flying machine. 

He then turned his attention to perfecting a "boll-weevil destroyer" where he lived in Marshall, Texas until his death at age 74 or thereabouts. 

You can take this story for what it's worth, but you can see the model of the Ezekiel Airship on display at Pittsburg, Texas, and you can drive by the old Thorsell Machine Shop where the original was constructed. 

Did it fly? Or did they lie? 

You be the judge!

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