The Collision Stories – Meerkat Press

The Collision Stories – Meerkat Press

The Collision:

Once in the dim dead Days beyond Recall, there lived a blue-eyed Gazook 

named Steve. 

We refer to the Period preceding the Uplift, when the Candidate wearing 

the largest collar was the People's Choice for Alderman. 

A Good Citizen wishing to open a Murder Parlor needed a couple of Black 

Bottles, a Barrel of Sawdust and a Pull at the City Hall. 

When he opened up, he threw the Key in the River and arranged to have 

the Bodies taken out through the Alley so as not to impede Traffic in the 

Main Thoroughfares. 

Twelve months every Year marked the Open Season for every Game from 

Pitch-and-Toss to Manslaughter. 

Any one in search of Diversion could roll Kelly Pool at 10 Cents a Cue in 

the Morning, go to the Track in the Afternoon, take in a 20-round Scrap in 

the Evening and then Shoot at the Wheel a few times before backing into 

the Flax. 

The Police were instructed to make sure that all Push-Cart Peddlers were 

properly Licensed. 

Steve roamed the Wide-Open Town and spread his Bets both ways from 

the Jack. 

When he cut the String and began to back his Judgment he knew no Limit 

except the Milky Way. Any time he rolled them, you could hear 

considerable Rumble. 

All the Bookies, Barkeeps, Bruisers, and the Boys sitting on the Moonlight 

Rattlers knew him by his First Name and had him tagged as a Producer 

and a Helva Nice Fellow. Steve heard vague Rumors that certain Stiffs who hurried home before 

Midnight and wore White Mufflers, were trying to put the Town on the 

Fritz and Can all the Live Ones, but he did not dream that a Mug who 

went around in Goloshes and drank Root Beer could put anything across 

with the Main Swivel over at the Hall. 

O, the Rude Awakening! 

One day he was in a Pool Room working on the Form Sheet with about 

150 other Students and getting ready to back Sazerack off the Boards in 

the Third at Guttenberg, when some Blue Wagons backed up and Steve 

told the Desk Sergeant, a few Minutes later, that his Name was Andrew 

Jackson. 

Next Day he had a Wire from a Trainer but when he went to the old 

familiar Joint, the Plain Clothes Men gave him the Sign to Beat it and he 

turned away, throbbing with Indignation. 

The down-town Books were being raided but the Angoras kept on 

galloping at the Track, so he rode out on the Train every day in order to 

preserve his Rights as a free-born American. 

One Day just as he was Peeling from his Roll in front of the Kentucky 

Club, in order to grab Gertie Glue at 8 to 5, Lightning struck the Paddock 

and laid out the entire Works. 

When the Touts and the Sheet-Writers and the Sure-Thingers came to 

and began to ask Questions, it was discovered that the Yap Legislature 

had killed the Racing Game and ordered all the Regulars to go to Work. 

Steve went back to Town in a dazed Condition to hunt up the Gang and 

find out what could be done to put out the Fire. 

When he arrived at the Hang-Out there was a Flag at Half-Mast. The 

Roost had been nailed up for keeping open after Eleven o'Clock! 

A few Evenings after that he sauntered up to a large Frame Building to 

look at a couple of Boys who had promised to make 135 Ringside. 

A Cannon was planted at the Main Chute and the Street was filled with 

Department Store Employees disguised as Soldiers. Nothing doing. 

The Governor had called out the Militia in order to prevent a Blot being 

put upon the Fair Name of the Commonwealth. 

With the Selling-Platers turned out to Pasture, the Brace-Box and the 

Pinch Wheel lying in the Basement at Central Station, the Pugs going back 

to the Foundry and all the Street Lamps being taken in at Midnight, no 

wonder Steve was hard pushed to find Innocent Amusement. 

He started to hang around a Broker's Office but it was no Fun to bet on a 

Turn-Up when you couldn't watch the Shuffle. Besides, the Game was 

Cold and was being fiercely denounced by the Press. 

For a Time he kept warm in a Bowling Alley. Drive a Man into a Corner 

and goad him to Desperation and he will go so far as to Bowl, provided 

that he lives in a German Neighborhood. 

One Evening he went down to see the Walhallas go against the 

Schwabens, but the Place was Dark. 

The Authorities had interfered. 

It seemed that the Manufacture of Bowling Balls involved the Destruction 

of the Hardwood Forests, while the Game itself overtaxed certain 

Important Muscles ending with "alis," at the same time encouraging 

Profanity and the use of 5-cent Cigars. 

Steve had one Stand-By left to him. He could prop himself up on the 

Bleachers with a bag of lubricated Pop-Corn between his Knees and hurl 

insulting Remarks at Honus Wagner, Joe Tinker and Ty Cobb. 

When he crawled up in the 50-cent Seats he found the same old Bunch 

that used to answer Roll Call at the Pool Room, the Sharkey Club, and the 

Betting Ring. 

The Law had made them Decent Citizens, but it hadn't made them any 

easier to look at. Steve longed for the Ponies and the good old Prelims between the Trial 

Horses, with Blood dripping from the Ropes, but when he picked up the 

Pink Sporting Page in the Morning, all he could find was that the Sacred 

Heart Academy has wrested the Basket-Ball Trophy away from the West 

Division High School. 

Base Ball is only Near-Sport to one who has whanged the Wise Ikes that 

mark up the Odds. Steve went to it because there was nothing else on the 

Cards. 

One Day he found every entrance to the Park guarded by a Blue Burly 

and the Crowds being turned away. 

The Health Department had put in a Knock on the Game, on the Ground 

that the Ball, after being handled by various Players and passed from one 

to the other, carried with it dangerous Microbes. 

The Officials insisted that, after every Play, the Ball should be treated with 

an Antiseptic or else that each Player should have an Individual Ball and 

allow no one else to touch it. 

The Society for the Protection of the Young had put up a Howl because 

the Game diverted the Attention of Urchins from their Work in the Public 

Schools and tended to encourage Mendacity among Office Boys. 

The Concatenated Order of High-Brows had represented to the proper 

Authorities that, as a result of widespread Interest in the demoralizing 

Pastime, ordinary Conversation on the tail-end of a Trolley Car was 

becoming unintelligible to University Graduates, and the Reports in the 

Daily Press had passed beyond the Ken of a mere Student of the English 

Language. 

The Medical Society certified that eight out of ten Men had shattered their

Nervous Systems, split their Vocal Cords and developed Moral 

Astigmatism, all because of the Paroxysms resulting from Partisan Fervor. 

Either build an Asylum in every Block or else liberate the present Inmates 

of all the Nut-Colleges. It was not fair to keep the Quiet Ones locked up 

while the raving Bugs were admitted to the Grand Stand every Afternoon. 

Under the Circumstances, a purely Paternal Administration could do only 

One Thing. It put Base Ball out of Business. On the very next Afternoon the unquenchable demand for Sport asserted 

itself. 

Steve went into the Back Yard with his eldest Son and looked about 

cautiously. 

"Is the Look-Out stationed on the Fence?" he asked. 

"He is." 

"Is the Garden Gate securely locked?" 

"It is." 

"Are the Mallets properly muffled?" 

"They are." 

"Then t'hell with the Law! We'll have a Game of Croquet." 

MORAL: If it is in the Blood, the only Remedy is the substitution of Iced 

Tea.

 End 

The Collision story. A collection of twelve of J.S. Breukelaar's darkest, finest stories with four new works, including the uncanny new nove. The Collision Stories – Meerkat Press, The Collision story, Collision: Stories – Meerkat Press,