Mostly pictures of people I didn't recognize. Till the bottom of page four.
Scott Ardullo dancing, but not with his wife.
In his arms was Sybil Crimmins, white-blond hair long and flowing over bare tan shoulders. Her gown was black and strapless; her breasts were barely tucked into its skimpy bodice as they pressed against Scott's starched white chest. Her fingers were laced with his and her big diamond ring sparkled between his digits. He looked down at her, she gazed up at him. Something different in his eyes-at odds with the solid-young-businessman image-too much heat and light, a hint of stupidity.
Dopey surrender.
Maybe it was too many drinks, or the novelty of holding someone who wasn't your wife, feeling her warm breath against your face. Or maybe a big party had offered the two of them the chance to flaunt something they'd been savoring in dark, musky rooms.
It could be why Jacob Haas had tightened up when talking about Sybil Crimmins. Scott, a boy he'd long admired, straying with a platinum-haired strumpet from L.A.?
As I stared at the picture, it seemed to give off waves of heat. Worth well more than a thousand words. I was surprised the Intelligencer had published it.
I found an editorial three weeks later that might've explained that:
After much soul-searching, as well as witnessing, firsthand, the triumphs and the travails of those noble enough-and some would say sufficiently quixotically inclined-to brave the elements of Nature as well as the much more malignant Forces of Big Government, this newspaper must weigh in on the side of rationality and self-preservation.
It s all fine and well for those born with silver spoons in their mouths to pronounce righteously about abstract ideals such as the Sanctity of the Family Farm. But to the bulk of the populace, those hardy but bowed men entrusted with the day-to-day, backbreaking labor that keeps the ground fertile, the branches laden, and the trucks loaded with Bounty, the story is quite another one.
Joe Average in Treadway-and, we 'd venture to wager, any agricultural community-toils day after day for fixed wages, with no promise of security or profit, or long-term investment. In most cases, his meager plot of backyard and his domicile are all he owns, and sometimes even that is tethered to some Financial Institution. Joe Average would love to plan for the Future, but he's usually too overwhelmed by the Present. So when Good Fortune smiles in the form of rising land values, offering said Mr. Average the chance of Real Gain, he cannot be condemned for seizing the opportunity to afford his family the same safety and comfort that the more fortunate regard as their birthright.
Sometimes good sense and the rights of individuals must prevail.
At our last Kiwanis luncheon, Mr. Carson Crimmins said it best: "Progress is like a jet plane. Fly with it or stand on the runway and you risk getting blown away."
Those of more fortunate lineage but less vision would do well to realize this.
Times change, and change they must. The history of this great country is based upon Free Will, Private Property, and Self-reliance.
Those who resist the voice of the future may find themselves in that Godless state known as Stagnation.
Times change. Brave and smart men change along with them.
Humbly, O. Hatzler
Scott Ardullo, fallen out of editorial good graces. Still, wouldn't the picture have embarrassed Carson Crimmins as well?
I read through subsequent issues, waiting for Scott's written response to the editorial. Nothing. Either he hadn't bothered, or the Intelligencer had refused to print his letter.
Five weeks later, Orton and Wanda Hatzler's names were gone from the paper's masthead. In their place, in ornate, curlicued typescript:
Sybil Crimmins PUBLISHER, EDITOR AND CHIEF WRITER
A pink sheet now, and cut back to three pages, flimsy as a supermarket mailer. No more wire-photo material. In its place, gushing movie reviews that seemed copied from press releases, barely literate accounts of local events, and amateurishly drawn cartoons with no apparent point. The too-large signature: " Derrick C."
Three barely filled pages, even twenty months later, when the headline screamed:
SLAUGHTER AT THE ARDULLO RANCH! RATCATCHER PEEKE ARRESTED!
by Sybil Noonan Crimmins Publisher, Editor and Chief Writer
Treadways darkest hour has arrived, or so it seemed when Sheriff Jacob Haas was called by Best Buy Produce Supervisor Teodoro "Ted" Alar con to the ranch and found a horrible massacre of unbelievable proportion. Their in the house, Sheriff Jacob Haas found several dead bodies, namely the ranch cook, Miss Noreen Peeke who was subjected to unbelievable and unhumane treatment at the hand of a dark fiend. Upstairs, were the other bodies, the ranch owner Scott Ardullo who got the place from his dad, Butch Ardullo, Scott's wife Terri and their daughter little Brittany who was around five years old. It was all horrible. But no sign of one other member of the family. The baby-Justin. All of us remember how Terri had such a hard labor with him and it would've been great for him to be okay.
But the terror continued. Sheriff Haas followed the blood and walked all the way to the back of the house where Noreen Peeke's son Ardith was living at the time and their he found Justin. Good taste says we won't go into detail but let's just say whoever did that to a tiny little infant is a fiend of unbelievable satan-like proportion. We are sick over this.
Ardith Peeke was drunk and stoned on all sorts of drugs. He was the ratcatcher on the ranch, going after all sorts of rodents and other pests, as well. So he probably had all sorts of weapons and poisons but we don't know yet what he used on those poor people.
Its really terrible and unbelievable, that something like this could happen in a small, peaceful place like ours but that seems to be the way the world is going, look at the Manson Family and how they attacked people who thought they were safe because they had money and lived behind gates. And the music of today, no one sings about love and romance, it s all nasty stuff and getting worse.
So the message, I guess is, trust in God, only He can protectyou.
Sheriff Haas called in the FBI and the Bakersfield police to consult on this because its way out of what he usually deals with. He told me he was in Korea but never saw anything like this.
My sources tell me Ardith Peeke has always been weird. Sometimes people tried to help him-I know my sons Cliff and Derrick sure did, trying to get him involved in some athletic activities and whatnot, theater projects, you name it. Anything to bring him out of his shell, because they figured he was lonely. But he wouldn 't hear of it. He just stayed by himself snorting paint and glue and whatnot. My sources tell me he was too into himself to relate to other people, some sort of severe mental illness.
Why did he suddenly do such a terrible thing?
Will we ever know?
Everyone loved theArdullos, they were here so long, working hard even when it wasn 't sure that would help because crop prices were so low. But working hard because that's what they believed in, they were salt of the earth people, they just loved to work.
HOW COULD THIS HAPPEN HERE-IN TREADWAY!?
IN AMERICA!!!!???
But that's what happens when the mind goes I guess.
I wish I had the answers but I'm only a journalist not an oracle.
I wish God worked in ways that we could understand- why should babies and children suffer like that? What makes a guy just go crazy like that?