Remember my telling you about having joined the in-crowd by attending a Shier House Party?
Recently, on a dark and rainy night, I was driving over to another world-class Shier House Party. Suddenly we found ourselves following a line of 12 cars that all seemed to be heading in the same direction. They made a left. We made a left. They made a right. We made a right. You get the idea. You could liken it to a Mafia funeral procession.
The last car in the procession was a white Volvo station wagon filled with wholesome occupants. I thought the Volvo had Shier House Party written all over it.
Back in my police officer days, I successfully arrested meth dealers and car thieves by using my highly honed ability to read vehicular body language.
I told my wife, “I bet these guys are going to the Shier House Party, so why don’t we turn off our GPS and just follow the crowd?”
Sure enough; the cars stopped in front of the Shier House Party proving that I still have what it takes to effectively read vehicular body language even if meth and stolen vehicles are not involved.
In addition to enjoying fun food and drink, attending a Shier House Party gives each guest the chance to meet fascinating people. You never know who you are going to meet.
At the last Shier House Party, I ran into Bill Miner who told me the story of his namesake, Bill Miner, the great train robber from the 1800s. My article was titled, Westside Story – Hands Up. Bill Miner is a fascinating guy.
You can imagine how excited I was to be invited back to another Shier House Party. I believe part of the reason I was invited is because I did not pull my old college prank of putting a lampshade belonging to the hostess on my head. This party focussed on three guests who were celebrating their January birthdays and to me that meant cake!
While visiting with Rod and Tim, a couple of regular Shier House Party guys, I noticed a man standing off by himself in the corner near the cake. I thought it would be a no lose proposition if I moseyed over to his location. If the stranger proved to be a bore, then there would be two bores in the corner, but at least I would be near the cake.
After striking up a conversation, he introduced himself as Mr. Cooper. Right off the bat I noticed his clothing seemed to make him look like he was locked in a time warp. He smelled kind of musty too. He was a tall slender white guy wearing an old style dark suit with a thin clip-on tie. He wore dark sunglasses inside the house even though it was pitch black outside. I had the eerie feeling I should know Mr. Cooper, but I could not remember from where or when.
Then the strangest thing happened. Mr. Cooper asked if he could buy the last copy of my new book, titled, Westside Story – WOT. Everyone tells me my book would have been a New York Bestseller if only I would have been blessed with the foresight to have printed more than 25 copies.
When I returned from the trunk of my car with my last book, Mr. Cooper asked me to autograph the book and then paid me in cash. His bills looked old and ragged.
After consuming a good portion of a bottle of 19 Crimes Wine, I was able to relax enough to remember where I had seen Mr. Cooper before. Mr. Cooper turned out to be the infamous D.B. Cooper who was the subject of a 46-year manhunt. He is the world’s most famous airplane high-jacker. Almost a half a century ago on the day before Thanksgiving 1971, he highjacked a plane and flew off into the sky blue yonder with $200,000 cash in marked bills.
By the time I figured it out, D.B. Cooper had disappeared into the night, once again; this time with my book. I missed out on the D.B. Cooper reward, but his hasty departure did mean more cake for me.
My doorbell is ringing so I have to stop writing now. I think it is the FBI.