Johnny Mack Hood
This book is a collection of tales about the adventures of Elves (and a little girl) in Southern Colorado, a macabre tale of a Caribbean cruise (you wouldn''''t want to take), the hilarious (and sometimes sad) misadventures of Mr. Throttlebottom and his hapless wife Emma told in four short stories, and a longer alternate future Novella about how Mr. Howard Hughes managed to establish a very unique hotel using his recently purchased Queen Mary moved to a new location a little further South than Long Beach. Each story recalls vividly a real place in this curious and interesting world or some real event in history.
After service on a US destroyer in WW2 and attendance at college the author worked as a research engineer for the University of California followed by a twenty-year career as a Navy Research Scientist in Lasers, Fiber optics and Camouflage. Dissatisfied with that, and after receiving a PhD in England, he began teaching Business Management at San Diego State University. This was apparently not his cup of tea so he began an extended career of teaching General Physical Sciences and Physics at SDSU. When not teaching he could be found serving as President of the Board of the SDSU Library Friends or giving public lectures on Jungian Psychology or the lives of 17th and18th century scientists. He is currently an adjunct professor of Astronomy at SDSU.
“Doctor, you say that he wore a sock that cut off his circulation? How odd. I have never heard of such a thing,” said Nurse Stump.
“Well, who knows? Throttlebottom here is a rather delicate person who seems to have followed a very strict regimen in his life. Changing socks seems to have thrown him completely out of kilter,” the Doctor ruminated. He didn’t know, of course, this to be an actual fact. Maybe old Throttlebottom would have been on this table in any case, sock or no sock.
But Nurse Bertha Stump frowned and took this sock bit of information to heart. Wait until she told her husband. He was always buying cheap clothes at Murkies. He had better look out. She did tell him and he, of course, mentioned it on the job to his friends. He was a concrete man. That is, he was in charge of steering the large bucket of wet concrete that the cranes lowered to the forms in the construction of large buildings. Most of these fellows did their shopping at Murkies, The Spot (Come to The Spot, See What We’ve Got), and Bandages & Pills (B&P for Those PM Pains). The Spot was the third member of the triad of retail stores owned by CRS - low price general merchandise chain. Their logo looked a great deal like those paper sheets that one pins up for shooting arrows.
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Later on the 40th floor of the CRS building in lower Manhattan, “Fenwick, get in here.” Mr. Kriegberg shouted.
Crassley Fenwick made his entrance on the double, “Yes Mr. K.” As Mr. Kriegberg’s personal assistant he was allowed to use this personal form of address. In his heart-of- hearts he wondered if even Mrs. Kriegberg was allowed to use it. That thought alone enabled him to bear up under the abuse pretty well. Besides what else was he fit for?
“Fenwick, explain these figures if you please. How could we be losing sales share on our Murkies operation?”
“I’m sorry Mr. K. I have no idea. We started our new campaign in August for back to school wear. Let Your Kids Have A Fit At Murkies. Great slogan, Mr. K, I wish I had thought of it.”
“Fenwick, you are not paid to think, only to answer my questions. I repeat what is happening to our sales at Murkies?” He scowled and rose from his chair behind his half-acre desk and strode to the window that looked out on the twin towers and the Hudson from the 40th story of the CRS building.
Fenwick had no answer. “I will try to find out Mr. K.” He cautiously backed out the door leaving a scowling boss glowering at his own reflection in the glass of the floor to ceiling window.
