WIP: DYNAMIC DUO OF THE OZARKS

(This is an short, upcoming chapter for your enjoyment, as Mykel goes toe-to-toe with a snooty lady at a bank.)

Mykel had not been home in two weeks. He had told his mother he would come home often, since Lemming was only 50 miles away. His roommate last semester, Ralph Jenkins, was hung over most of the time and not very chummy, when he was sober, so Mykel went home quite often on weekends. This semester was different. He was rooming with a basketball player, so he planned to go to more games. There was also Sherry. This was the closest thing Mykel had ever had to a girlfriend. Just hanging out with her in the TV lounge and eating popcorn was more fun than Mykel had ever had in his life.

He still talked to his mother on the phone. Since she worked for the phone company, she could call him every day. She had told him not to come home this weekend, because Route 66 would be slick due to the “Big Blizzard of 1966.” His mother called him, on Tuesday night, and asked the question every college kid loves to hear come from the parent’s mouths.

“Do you need money? I can have Grandpa send you a check, if you need it.”

“Yeah, that would be great! I’m starting to run low on money.”

On Friday, the check arrived in the mail. The problem was the bursar’s office closed on Friday at noon and Mykel’s grandfather had made the check out for $50, which was over the amount the bursar’s office would cash a check for.

“What bank does it come from?” Clint asked. “If it is one with a branch here in Spring Valley, they will cash it.”

“We use State Bank of Missouri. Are they in Springville?” Mykel asked.

“Look in the Yellow Pages,” Clint suggested. “I’m sure they do. Just show them your account number…”

“I don’t have an account number and I’m not on the family’s account.”

“I have an account with State Bank, because that is the bank we use in Hermes,” Clint explained. “Me, Dad and Uncle Earl, go all over Missouri to buy and sell cattle and hay. I have an account for when I get places alone to buy and sell. I’ll go with you, and they will let you cash the check.”

Mykel found the address of the bank in the phone book and the Clint drove him, in his Mustang, there through the dirty slush, which was all was left of what the big blizzard that had dumped on the Ozarks, while cartoon hillbillies sang the praises of Mountain Dew, before a K-I-L-L jingle and the Dave Clark Five singing “Over and Over” on the radio. The bank was across from the large shopping center, where Mode-O-Day, Newberry’s and Otasco were located, and next door to Katz.

Mykel and Clint walked into the black, marble, bank building with white colonnade in front of green glass windows and with aluminum louvers. Clint stopped and looked at the time and temperature sign, sticking out from the corner of the building, then looked at his watch.

“Their clock is slow,” Clint said. “I guess I should tell them. I’m not sure the temperature is right either.”

“This is Missouri,” Mykel groused. “It probably is forty-five degrees, even though it was twenty degrees when we went to class this morning.” They continued into the bank building. The bank had that musty money and ink smell. The floor was tiled, in black and white squares, with the teller windows and counters made with finished wood. Mykel walked over to a small island counter and pulled the check and a pen from his pocket, so that he could endorse it.

“I was going to ask if you had a pen of your own,” Clint said. “The pens at the bank never work.”

“It’s because they put them on chains,” Mykel joked. “When you chain something up, it loses it will to live.”

“I’ve always thought they were getting ready to calve,” Clint chuckled.

Mykel and Clint got in the shortest line and began the wait until they were able to cash the check from Mykel’s grandfather. There was a man, in a pair of Dickies hickory-striped overalls, at the window, cashing a check, that was probably from Frisco Railroad. When he finished, the line moved forward and the elderly woman, in front of them, moved forward to the window.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Killinsworth!” the teller greeted the elderly woman with cheerful smile. “How are you today?” The teller cheerfully talked to the pensioner about her grandchildren and what she did earlier in the week during the bad snowstorm. Mrs. Killinsworth put her money in her handbag and began to leave. The teller said, “Always nice to help you, Mrs. Killinsworth! Come and see us anytime!”

Mykel and Clint stepped forward and the teller’s expression immediately went from cheerful to an annoyed scowl. “What do you two characters want?” she snapped.

“I need to cash a check,” Mykel said.

“You can only cash a check if you have an account here,” the teller informed Mykel in the loudest voice possible.

“Mam, I have an account with State Bank of Missouri,” Clint said, quickly showing the teller his bank book with his account number on it.

“I came here because the account is with State Bank of Missouri,” Mykel explained. “My family does their banking with the branch in Lemming. I also have a driver’s license and Social Security card, if you need it.” Mykel showed the teller his driver’s license, which caused her to scowl it.

“What in the world is this name?” the teller squalled.

“It’s Mykel.”

“That is not the way folks in the Ozarks spell Michael. We spell it the way it is spelled in the Bible.” the teller informed Mykel and Clint of the superiority of Ozarkers. “Is this a Soviet Union spelling?”

“No, it’s Greek!” Mykel answered with his teeth clenched.

“Calm down, Mykel,” Clint said, realizing this might get quite ugly before it was over.

The teller then jerked the check from Mykel’s hand and looked at it. She began to scowl more and blurted out, “The name on this says Major and Mrs. Harrison Taylor! Did you steal this from a member of the military and put your name on?”

“No. My grandfather is Major Harrison Taylor and he sent me the check because I haven’t been back home. My mom thought you would be more likely to cash one of his checks,” Mykel began talking louder and frowning harder at the scowling teller. “Now cash the check and fork over my money, Lady!”

Clint tried to extinguish the fire, “Calm down, Mykel. People are staring at us.”

“I’m going to have to report this to one of our managers.” The teller said, as she pushed a button on an intercom. “Mr. Diffenderfer, could you come to Window 6, please? I have some troublemakers at my window. I believe they are probably college students.” She looked at Mykel and Clint, as launched into lecture. “You college kids come into town and want us to give you special treatment! Springville isn’t going to allow that garbage that is going on in Berkely, California to happen here! This is a decent God-fearing, conservative, community! I will have you know that in the 1960 election, 95 percent of Browne County voted for Richard Nixon, and in the 1964 election, 95 percent of Browne County voted for Barry Goldwater.”

“It didn’t do either one of them any good, they both lost. I can’t believe you people bragging about voting for the losers,” Mykel said with a smirk, as a well-dressed man with gray, thinning hair walked up behind the teller.

“Is there a problem, Myrtle?” the man asked.

“These hooligans are trying to cash this check,” the teller said. “I believe they stole it from a military man and the short one with the Beatle hair forged his name to it.”

The man looked at the check and then told the boys meet him a small office at the other end of the teller windows. They went inside and the man closed the door. He told them to sit down. He sat down at his desk.

“So, what is the problem?”

“My mom had my grandpa send me a check for some spending money. They have an account with State Bank of Missouri. I don’t, but my roommate, Clint here, has one with your bank in Hermes…”

“Hermes! My aunt and uncle live in Hermes. Do you no Furd and Henrietta Kaffenburger?”

“Yes, they go to the same church as me,” Clint answered. “She makes really good chicken and dumplings and fudge brownies.”

“Yes, I need to get up that way and visit them,” Mr. Diffenderfer said.

“My dad bought some sheep from them and I raised a lamb and got a blue ribbon for it at the fair,” Clint continued on, while Mykel was getting anxious wanting his check cashed.

“That’s good,” he then looked at Mykel. “Now…is that pronounced Me-keel?”

“It’s pronounced Michael!”

“Okay, is this your maternal grandfather?”

“Yes, he is retired from Fort Leonard Wood,” Mykel answered. “Do you want to call him and ask him if he wrote the check to me? The phone number is Keystone2-2866.”

“No, that won’t be necessary,” Mr. Diffenderfer said, as he reached in a strong box on his desk and pulled two twenty and ten one-dollar bills, then handed them to Mykel. “You don’t look like a check forger to me.”

“My mother thought that the bank would cash a check from my grandpa easier than if she wrote a check,” Mykel explained.

“You should get your name put on your mother’s account,” Mr. Diffenderfer suggested. “Transactions will be easier for her if a man’s name is on her account. It would appear there was a man in charge of the household. Also, with your name on the account, she can write you a check and you can get it cashed faster. Your grandpa will probably need to go with you and your mother to get it changed over.”

He paused, then Mr. Diffenderfer continued. “Oh, I also want to apologize for Myrtle’s behavior. She is rules crazy. She is also from a pioneering Springville family. She doesn’t like college students or anyone from outside of Browne County for that matter. She oversteps her authority quite a bit.” He opened the door to his office, shook their hands and showed them out.

Clint and Mykel began walking through the lobby, past people waiting in line, and Mykel stopped at the back of the line at Myrtle’s window. When she looked up, from counting a customers money, Mykel said, in a raised voice, “I got my money!” He then stuck out his tongue, “Nyaaa!” He and Clint then ran out of the bank.