The Adventures of Gopher Piddington Read online

  When Gopher asked his mother what addlepated meant, she told him it was a term to describe people with limited capacity to think. “It’s not a kind thing to say about anyone, so be careful how you use it and to whom you say it to.”

  “Well, what about Reginald? Is he addlepated?”

  Kirsten told her son that the boy is certainly lacking in some departments but it would be best if he kept that term to himself, as it would certainly hurt the boy’s feelings to hear someone call him that.

  So, armed with that new information, Gopher promptly went to Reginald’s home and told him he was addlepated. The simple-minded boy merely showed his toothy grin, nodded and grunted approval.

  When the county fair came around, everyone was excited. Why, there would be pie-eating contests and other good things to eat like cabbage rolls and Indian fry bread dusted with sugar. But the very best part of the fair was the horse racing.

  Just about everyone in Santa Fe County owned a horse and just about every one of them was convinced his horse was the fastest.

  It was time to find out. The times and finishes of the preceding year were calculated to produce a list of the fastest and the slowest. Why the process was called seeding, Gopher had no idea, because it had absolutely nothing to do with seeds. But that is what the men spent a lot of time discussing and arguing over.

  The annual races attracted everyone to the makeshift course. In the old days they were held more or less in a straight line. The object was to go out as fast as you could, make a turn around some pre-determined landmark and race back. The first one returning to cross the line was declared the winner.

  But when the population of Santa Fe and the surrounding territory grew, so did the interest in horse racing. What was needed was a way to race the animals where everyone could see, not just those few clustered around the finish line. So, bushes were uprooted and ground smoothed to form an oval shaped track. Now everyone could see every part of the race not just the finish.

  The following year, when Gopher and Reginald were old enough to watch the races by themselves, the town had installed bleachers on both sides of the finish line. For a fee, one could now see the race from a vantage point and sit in comfort on wooden benches. Neither boy had enough money for a seat high up in the air, so they contented themselves with observing from the ground by leaning on a single-rail fence, put there to keep folks from sneaking in without paying.

  The gun sounded and a group of eager horses bolted from the chalky line. Well, to be truthful, two of the horses weren’t quite so eager. One bolted at the sound of the gun, dumping its rider onto his backside. The other started running in the wrong direction, which caused race organizers to run onto the track waving towels and hats in an effort to stop the animal from running headlong into the oncoming group thundering around the first turn.

  The errant horse and rider were diverted and herded through a narrow gate in the fence, where the horse reared up, ejecting his rider onto the tall grass outside the stands. It all took less than half a minute. No one was hurt and the race continued.

  There was a winner that day but the winning horse and rider were not the star attraction. When the victorious horse was paraded past the grandstands with his proud rider waving to the crowd, Reginald couldn’t contain his zeal and ducked under the fence. All the boy wanted to do was go up and pat the horse like he patted his friend Gopher when he was happy.

  But at the first unexpected slap on its flanks, the big, powerful horse bolted and began charging wildly around the track again, this time with Reginald running alongside and patting the animal with congratulatory affection.

  From that day on, whenever there was a horse race, Reginald grunted approval and tried to run with them. He was usually restrained, as his presence on the track caused the race to be spoiled and inconclusive.

  Some say the boy could have won any foot race he entered—and there were speculators that actually attempted to do just that! But the addlepated boy would only run fast when he was around horses and no one wanted to place bets on that kind of racing.

  So, in the end, Reginald and Gopher continued to collect colorful baubles and bottles and sit in Reginald’s house to watch the setting sun shine through the bottled-up windows.

  TROUBLE WITH WORDS

  Big words frustrated Gopher. Words like addlepated and infatuated. He didn’t’ know what they meant until he asked somebody, and many times the other kids had no idea, either. So, big words often remained a mystery.

  During a thorough house-cleaning, Gopher’s parents decided it would be better if their little boy was elsewhere while they toiled away getting their place in order.

  Just down the hill from their home lived the Spiegelberg’s. Mister Spiegelberg was a Jewish preacher that found a home and a small following in Santa Fe. He often said the Santa Fe valley was among the most beautiful spots he had ever visited and every year more and more Jews came to live in the peace and quiet the area offered.

  Gopher had trouble understanding even the most elemental words due to the different speech patterns the Spiegelberg family used. Even their three daughters spoke with a funny accent.

  Gopher was told to walk down the hill and spend the day with the Spiegelberg sisters while Able and Kirsten made their home ready for guests.

  Ten minutes later Gopher returned, his face stained with tears.

  “What’s the matter?” His mother asked. “Did something happen at the Spiegelberg’s? Are you hurt?

  Gopher mustered his brave face—the one with the lower lip extended. He told his mother that the older girls said he was included.

  “Why, that’s a good thing, Gopher. Did you not know that?”

  Gopher said it wasn’t so much the word itself, but how the older girl said it that hurt his feelings. “She told me I was included but she said it like she really didn’t want me there at all.”

  “Oh Gopher, what are we going to do with you? The world is just too big for you right now. What you need is to attend school so you can learn what words mean. And, you will learn how to use them when you are talking with others.”

  “But all the kids say they hate school.”

  “Come now, all the children say that?”

  Gopher’s mood improved slightly. “Maybe not all of them but Willy Guthrie said school is a bad thing.”

  “When did you have time to talk with Willy?”

  Gopher thought about that question for a few minutes. He knew if he answered it honestly he might be in line for a whipping or at the very least a tongue-lashing, so he kept silent.

  “Well, it’s no never mind. But you are going to go to school come autumn. I will make sure your name gets added to the roster. After all, you’re six years old now and most children begin their schooling at that age.”

  “But Willy and some of the older boys don’t go to school. Why should I?”

  “Do you think Willy G. knows the meaning of the word included? And how about the word, ignorant? Would he know what that word means?”

  “I don’t know but I’ll be sure to ask him next time I see him.”

  “And when might that be?”

  “Sometimes he’s down by the river fishing and stuff.”

  “What stuff?”

  Now Gopher was getting himself in hot water. If he told his mother that the boys often threw stones at ducks and other animals, he would surely get into trouble. “You know, stuff boys do.”

  “Maybe you would like to discuss those activities with your father?”

  Gopher said he would not, and told his mother that some of the boys threw rocks at things. His mind was racing, trying to come up with a story that made sense and would not get him into trouble. “Sometimes Willy and the older boys throw sticks out into the middle of the river and we all try to hit them with rocks and such.”

  “Well, all that sounds harmless enough. I guess I won’t be bothering your father just now. You go back down the hill and play with the Spiegelberg’s kids—now move, young man be
fore I give you a swat of my own.”

  SCHOOL DAYS

  There were two schoolhouses in Santa Fe: the older one-room facility and the newer building boasting a proper stage and good benches for seating lots of people. The benches could easily be moved and stacked in an anteroom where the standard school desks were also stored.

  Depending upon the need, either arrangement took but a few minutes to remove one set of seating and place another in its place.

  As the population at the time seemed dependent upon the railways and Santa Fe had been left out of the main construction plans due to difficult terrain, the only train to Santa Fe was a spur line from Lamy. Santa Fe had been bypassed and mostly forgotten. There never was a great influx of settlers willing to endure the hot summers and cold winters most of New Mexico offered. But for those willing to stay, the area provided many things other Southwestern cities did not. Santa Fe had been spared the wild and wooly reputation of towns like Tucson, Yuma and Deadwood. In that regard, Gopher and his family lived in a rather peaceful neck of the woods.

  Even with its small population, the need for a larger school facility was correctly envisioned, not only for educating children, but also for important meetings that Mayor Piddington often called for. He was not only Gopher’s father and the Mayor; he owned and operated the finest eatery in the region, Piddington’s International Dining Emporium.

  On the first day of school, Gopher Piddington stood at his assigned desk and announced to the entire class of eighteen fellow students that his name was Gilbert Gopher Piddington but preferred to be called Gopher.

  There was the usual snickering over such an unusual middle name. At recess Gopher endured a little too much friendly teasing at the hands of the more aggressive boys and girls.

  Needless to say, Gopher’s first day at school was a disaster and he quickly learned that forming alliances with some kids was good, while being with others was not.

  Being the natural-born troublemaker he was, Gopher often found ways of making his time in school a bit more interesting and entertaining.

  In his McGuffey’s reader under the chapter explaining President Abraham Lincoln’s freeing of the black slaves, there was a reference to the problems also facing white slaves; those poorest of indentured workers with white skin.

  Gopher was bored and took to doodling in his book or on his worksheet. On that particular page he took the time to color in black and white checkerboard patterns on the sketches in the chapter discussing black and white slaves.

  Miss Bidwell found no humor in his artistic endeavor and sent him to the corner, where he mounted a tall stool and was forced to wear the pointed dunce cap for all to see.

  The next day, things picked up a bit. On the way to school he noticed a brace of honeybees sucking nectar from a flowering bush near the school. He took a small leather coin purse from his back pocket and caught a dozen bees with it before he heard the bell sound the beginning of class.

  During class, when everyone was busy with his or her own scribe work, Gopher opened the purse and let the bees out.

  Screams from the frightened little females filled the room, as a dozen angry bees began fighting back. Several bees were slammed between pages of McGuffey Readers, causing enormous stains.

  Miss Bidwell was beside herself and demanded to know who had brought bees into her classroom.

  Gopher raised his hand. “Maybe they came in through the open window,” he glibly offered. “They do that sometimes.”

  He was sent home with a note stating he was too immature to attend school and too disruptive for inclusion in a group of students bent upon bettering their lives through learning.

  “You’ve been kicked out of school?” His father boomed. “Look what you’ve done now. Everyone in town will soon know that the son of the Mayor of Santa Fe has an ill-behaved child. How can I face those people now? Can’t you just behave for a few days in a row once in a while?”

  Gopher was tempted to say, “No,” but knew an honest response like that would result in cutting another switch and getting his bottom warmed. So, he said nothing and waited to hear what was coming next.

  “Oh Able, don’t be so harsh on the boy. Maybe this has all been a big mistake. Why don’t I go tomorrow and have a talk with Miss Bidwell?”

  “You do just that. In the meantime, I think Gopher and I have a date behind the woodshed.”

  “Why don’t you wait until I get back from Miss Bidwell’s before punishing him. Maybe some other child set him off. Give me an hour or two. When I come back we can all sit down and discuss the entire episode. That will give both of you a while to think things over. And you, young man, had better think about telling the truth. This is serious business—this schooling thing.”

  That night, the Piddingtons sat down after an all-too quiet supper at the restaurant and waited until the entire staff had vacated the building.

  “Miss Bidwell claims you let a swarm of bees loose in her classroom. What do you have to say about that?”

  The lower lip came out a bit more. “I was bored and the kids teased me about my middle name, calling me “rat-boy” and “mole-hole”. So the next day I caught some bees and let them loose. I didn’t think it would be a big problem.”

  Able said, “Well it is a big problem. Look at the disruption you have caused, to say nothing of my reputation. Did you see how some of my customers were looking at us this evening? They must think I’ve raised an idiot.”

  “Now Able, it won’t help the matter to start name-calling. Our son has admitted to the deed and given us the reasons why. I, for one, can certainly understand his frustration at being made fun of, especially with his name—something he can’t change. I think I will go to that school tomorrow morning and straighten this whole mess out, once and for all.”

  Gopher went to bed that night with his bottom and his pride intact. He had received no worse punishment that the fact that his own mother was going to appear in his classroom in the morning. He did not want that to happen and covered his head with his down-filled pillow, soon to fall into a fitful sleep.

  The morning came and Kirsten reminded her son that he must follow her to school while she addressed the class.

  If Gopher had dared curse at that moment, he would, but the punishment for such things often led to getting his mouth washed out with harsh lye soap. So he kept his opinions to himself and trailed along after his mother as she made her way down the dirt road and all the way to the edge of town where the new schoolhouse was located.

  All the while, Gopher dreaded every step. He considered bolting and running away as fast as Reginald. If it weren’t for his unpleasant memories of the Apache kidnappers he endured two years before, he might have actually run away. But fear of being taken again kept him at his mother’s side. Besides, he knew he was too young to run away. . .maybe next year.

  With his thoughts on his fantasy, the time passed quickly and before he knew it, the schoolhouse loomed in front of him. Miss Bidwell was standing on the porch getting ready to pull the bell cord. She stared at Gopher for a moment, her disgust showing clearly. Kirsten saw it as well and counseled her frightened son to buck up like a man and take whatever comes.

  When everyone was seated, Miss Bidwell announced to the entire class that they had a visitor. With an overly gracious wave of her hand, Miss Bidwell invited Kirsten to come forth and take the lectern.

  Gopher was dragged along with his mother. Many of the children giggled at his obvious discomfort. No child wants to have his or her mother dragging them through town and to school like an ill-behaved pet. Gopher was no different.

  When Miss Bidwell inquired as to the nature of the unusual intrusion, Kirsten told her that all her questions would be answered once she addressed the class.

  “I came to this land as a young girl, perhaps not much older than some of you.

  “It was a time of difficulty and many along the trails west failed to make it, either through Indian attacks, illness, broken equipment or exhaus
tion.

  “One night on the trail I made up my bedroll as usual and settled down for a well-earned sleep. In the morning I awoke to something lying next to me in bed.

  “I dared not look but I had to know what was sharing my bed. It was a very large and very deadly rattlesnake.”

  The class inhaled in disbelief.

  “As I slowly pulled the top blanket off, the snake began to coil. It was ready to strike and I was the target.

  “Just then, our faithful dog spotted my distress and came to investigate. In an instant the dog darted in and grabbed the huge reptile in its jaws.

  “The snake never had a chance against such a worthy and loyal opponent. The dog’s powerful jaws nearly severed the wide, flat head with one bite.

  “With determined slapping of the snake to the ground, the dog finally dispatched the deadly viper and saved my life.

  “I thought you children might like to hear of a real, true, sure enough trail adventure.”

  The class was mesmerized. One student ventured the question, “May I ask what the dog’s name was?”

  “Why certainly, but first I want you all to know that I always wanted to name my children after real, for sure heroes—and I did. The dog’s name was Gopher.”

  The stunned class was silent.

  Miss Bidwell took over the class by asking Gopher if he would like to take his regular seat.

  Gopher Piddington did, and did so with pride. He had been accepted.

  GOPHER’S FIRST FIGHT

  School began to interest Gopher. He really wanted to be able to read the printed word and be able to understand what words meant. He no longer was content to have his parents read to him in the evening. He wanted to do that for himself and the only way to accomplish that was to go to school and do his assignments.

  But when Miss Bidwell came down sick, another schoolmarm was brought in as a substitute. Gladys Nightingale, a widow, was nothing like Miss Bidwell, either in personality or in looks. She was, what Willy Guthrie called an old hag.