Summer 1966
If you are a narcotic
agent this story is purely fiction
During the summer of 1966, my good friend Richard Hartman
and I were selected to take part in an archeological dig at the Pea Ridge
National Military Park. The intent of this dig was to locate the Civil War town
of Lee Town and the graves of soldiers killed in the battle at Pea Ridge. The
graves did not contain bodies; the bodies were moved to the National cemetery
in Fayetteville. Lee Town played an important part in the Civil War. The location
of the town was known, but nothing of the town was visible because as part of a
field, it was plowed and used to grow wheat and cotton.
My friend Richard was a rather strange character. If you met
him, you would have trouble averting your eyes from his blue eyes. If you could
look past his eyes, you would find him to be a balanced 6’ 2” Without any
obvious abnormalities. He had a back problem, which prevented him from entering
the service. His strangeness stemmed from his personality and he was plainly
paranoid schizophrenic. Richard spent two months in a mental hospital during
his junior year of college. He graduated with a BA in English after an attempt
at premed and psychology. He taught for one year at Rogers High School, and the
administration asked him not to return. Richard finally ended up working as a plumber.
The archaeological dig was interesting. We dug trenches in
the area where the Civil war maps showed gravesites. Each trench was about four
feet deep and three feet wide. The places where the soil had been disturbed were
obvious in the soil profile. Fortunately, the soil was soft and we could dig it
with only a shovel. The work was easy for young men. You can see the location
we excavated if you take the road tour at the park. At the Lee Town stop, you
can walk off the road and see the graveyard and the Lee Town site.
At the Lee Town site, we dug trenches to help locate
building sites. This is where the story begins. While working in the trench, we
dug through what appeared to be a trash dump. There was a lot of burned
material and glass bottles. As I worked at my site, I saw Richard reach down and
retrieve something. As he did, he put the object into his back pocket and then
took off his shirt and tied it around his waist. At the next water break I
asked him what he had found. He told me he would show me after work. Of course
I had all sort of scenarios going through my head. Did he find a bottle of gold
dust? The possibilities seemed endless,
but I knew it must be something valuable. The penalties for taking anything
were very severe. We were warned that removing any artifact was a Federal crime.
Considering Richard’s intense paranoia, I knew that this was something big. I thought
that maybe if it was gold he would be sharing it with me to keep me, his best
friend, from informing on him.
Finally three o’clock came. As we sat in the car, I told him
to let me see what he had found. He reached into his back pocket and brought
out a striking blue bottle. Some bottles have great value to collectors. That
particular bottle looked old, but more interesting, the bottle was corked and
the wax seal had remained unbroken. Richard handed the bottle to me and said to
read what was on it. The label was imprinted in the glass. It was an unopened
bottle of Laudanum. On the bottle, it stated the content: Twelve percent morphine, 30% opium, and 50%
grain alcohol. My first response was “Holy Shit! If we get caught with this will go to prison
for the rest of our lives!” A high
School friend or ours was caught with a marijuana joint and sentenced to ten
years in the Arkansas State prison. In 1965, marijuana was considered as
dangerous as heroin. Our friend had to serve only two years and was paroled for
good behavior. He told us about his time. He said the first week was the worse.
He was forced to stuff a pair of under shorts into his rectum because he could
not control his sphincter muscle. His sphincter problem was due to his cellmate
having sex with him two or three times a night. After a couple of weeks, the cellmate
slowed down and he gained control of his rectum once again. He told us that his
cellmate would get out in 1967, and when he did, they were going to meet and
move to Oregon to live. I have not seen Steve since that time. With this in
mind, we stored the bottle under the spare tire of his 1952 Chevy. We attempted
to hide the bottle from the sight of any police officer who might learn that we
were carrying a class I narcotic.
I had to know what Richard had in mind. Richard said,” We
will go to Eden’s Bluff to fish. We will get a case of GB and some wine and try
this stuff.” I asked, “How do you know that it is not poisonous?” We drove to
the Rogers Library to investigate. We grabbed the Encyclopedia Americana and
looked up Laudanum. Amazingly, bottles of Laudanum were found in perfect
condition after 400 years, so our bottle of century-old Laudanum should be safe.
I was getting paranoid and Richard, who is always paranoid, was having trouble
driving home while watching for the police car that knew we had a bottle of Laudanum
on board. Richard dropped me off at my house and drove to his house without
incident.
Richard called me later that night and wanted to know whom
we could take on our trip to the bluff. You must understand that cell phones were
decades away, so I talked to him as I stood in the kitchen with my mother about
five feet away. I suggested that we get Jim Billy and Larry Dale but no one
else. I checked with my mother to see whether it would be okay for me to go fishing
over the weekend with some friends. With permission granted, we looked forward
to our first taste of the hard stuff. Richard found the bottle on Wednesday, so
we had two more days of terrifying paranoia. Richard said he had the bottle
hidden safely, which brought me little comfort regarding a bottle that could land
me in prison for ten years or more and get me a deformed rectum. Those two days
at work were the longest days I ever endured. Finally, it was Friday afternoon.
The car was loaded down with fishing gear and coolers and a
beautiful blue bottle under the spare tire. We picked up Jim Billy and Larry
Dale. Jim Billy later dropped out of college and married an older woman with
children. He finally became a truck driver. Larry Dale completed college with a
degree in history but never used it to make a living. He became a computer
programmer for a large oil company. On that day, we were only 20 years old with
a secret. We were breaking the law in the worst sort of way in 1966 terms.
Eden’s bluff was a beautiful place. There was a large gravel
beach on a stretch of white river that formed a narrow valley with high bluffs
on both sides. I have not been back in many decades. Today I suppose that it is
covered with condos. At the time of our story, it was a secluded fishing spot. High
on the cliff was a cave. This was our destiny for the night’s entertainment. The
cave did not go very far into the bluff but it was the perfect protected area. Close
to the entrance, the roof had caved in a thousand years ago making a perfect
chimney for a campfire. The floor was rather flat making it easy to find a
place to set up an army cot. Indians had used this shelter for many centuries. You
could always find good arrowheads at Eden’s Bluff.
With the preformed shelter, setting up camp was easy. The
view from the shelter made it possible to see who came into the area and it was
so secluded no one would know we were there unless they climbed up to the
shelter. We set up our camp chairs and ate ham and cheese hoagies with about a
pound of meat, cheese, tomatoes, lettuce, onions, pickles, and hot mustard,
washing it down with GB beer. Richard,
being the founder of the magic blue bottle, is selected to take the first sip. Richard
was known for playing tricks. He took his swallow and passed the bottle to me. He
did not show any emotion; he only remarked that it wasn’t bad. I took a sip of
the stuff and believe me, I do not think I have ever put anything in my mouth
that tasted so bad. It was so bitter and nothing would take the taste out of
your mouth. Richard started laughing as I cursed and drank GB to get the taste
out of my mouth. If you bite into a green persimmon, you have an idea of what
it did to my mouth. It would have probably been good if we stopped at that
point. After a few GBs everyone was willing to try the Laudanum again. Each of
us took another draw on the bottle. The effect was a little different. The next
pass through and it tasted good. As it became darker, we moved down to the water’s
edge to fish and drink our beer and apple Cider. Things began getting out of
hand. Richard became depressed. This was a normal reaction for Richard. He
threw the blue bottle into the river. Someday, that bottle will wash up on
shore and someone will make a fortune off it. Jim Billy started crying about
his younger brother Joe Don, who had disappeared after an accident at a grave site
while we were moving bodies from graves that Beaver Lake would soon cover. Larry
Dale became worried that Joe Don would murder us during the night. I was not
catching any fish, so I decided to check out why the fish were not biting. I
took my flash light, jumped into the water, and started swimming under water. I
thought that I could find some fish and scare them up to our hooks. I discovered
that there were no fish. I told everyone that there were no fish in the river
and we might as well go back to the shelter and build a fire so I could dry
off.
Back in the safety of our shelter, we passed around a bottle
of pure Concord grape wine. Well, you cannot be too choosy when you are under
age. The wine is made in Tony Town outside of Springdale, and is sold illegally
by various vendors. If you go to Tony Town, you will notice they grow many
grapes. There is not a grape that tastes better than a concord grape; my
personal opinion of course. The Concord wine is not too intoxicating, but it
does taste good. The wine is used in many church services and if you buy the
store bought stuff, the label shows a Jewish family enjoying kosher wine.
In front of the campfire, I dried off, warmed up, and began feeling
extremely sleepy. Everyone felt sleepy. We decided that we should take turns
guarding and maintaining the fire. We were still somewhat worried about Joe Don
murdering us in the middle of the night. That was a very disturbing night. I do
not know what the others experienced, but I know what happened to me. I woke to
find myself tied to my army cot and unable to move. Joe Don came up to me with
a stump and a big ax. He laid my arm on the stump and tied a piece of rope
around my arm just above the elbow. Joe Don then proceeded to hack my lower arm
off at the elbow. This hurt like hell and I pleaded for him to stop and let me
go. He went to the other side to do the same to my remaining arm. He proceeded
to chop my lower legs and then my upper arms and upper legs. He laid my head on
the block and just as the ax was coming down on my neck I woke. The fire was
out and the guard was on the floor, fast asleep. It was 10 AM and we had slept
almost 12 hours. This is not natural for 20-year-old boys out fishing. All my
joints were aching, but I was still in one piece.
We spent that Saturday fishing and as night came, we heard a
car approaching. It was a group of girls from High school. They came to do a
little private skinny-dipping. We were able to talk them out of that activity
and invited them to our shelter to have some beer, wine, and ham and cheese
sandwiches with us. There is no telling what might have happened to those girls
if they had stripped and some of the bad boys in the area had stolen their clothes.
This does happen, you know. We sat around the campfire and told them about Joe
Don. That story persuaded them not to sleep on the beach, but to stay in the shelter
with us around the warm campfire. That night, we forgot to post a guard and we did
not have any bad dreams. Does anyone know the Statutes of Limitation on
processing a bottle of Laudanum?
