(or, how two boys nearly improved Piedmont to death)
A Piedmont Lantern Story
It all began on a Tuesday so ordinary it practically squeaked. Piedmont was sittin’ quiet, the Terrapin whisperin’ to itself, and nothin’ much stirrin’ except the stray cat that belonged to no one and everyone.
Jimmy Matthew Cartwright was sprawled on the school steps like a lizard on a rock, so lazy he gave laziness a bad name. Jim Leroy sat beside him, pickin’ at the sole of his shoe as if hopin’ to extract wisdom from a wad of old gum.
Miss Tanner marched out of the front door with her usual sense of doom and determination. She was holdin’ a clipboard tight enough to crack walnuts.
“Boys,” she said, “I’ve been lookin’ everywhere for you.”
“Well, ma’am,” Jimmy said, “we been right here, sufferin’ from a tragic case of educational exhaustion.”
Jim Leroy nodded. “It’s chronic, ma’am.”
Miss Tanner ignored this.
“The town council said the youth of Piedmont ought to get more involved in civic duty. So, you two are volunteerin’.”
Jimmy blinked. “We are?”
“Yes. And you’re startin’ today.”
“Do we get paid?” Jim Leroy asked.
“No.”
“Do we get snacks?”
“No.”
Jimmy sighed. “This is already the worst job I ever had.”
Miss Tanner handed each of them a badge made of cardboard and tape.
It said: Junior Civic Assistants.
It looked like a title invented by a committee that hated children.
“Now,” she continued, “your job is to help Mr. Everly clean up the town’s train station. Behave yourselves. And for the love of all that is holy, do not take initiative.”
She left with the speed of a woman avoidin’ structural damage to her sanity.
Jimmy and Jim set off, badges already droopin’ noticeably in the humidity.
Mr. Everly: A Man in Decline
Mr. Everly had been the unofficial caretaker of the train station since the Truman administration. He swept the sidewalks so often the broom knew the curves of the pavement better than he did.
“Ain’t you two a sight,” he said, squintin’. “The school send y’all, or did you escape?”
“We volunteered,” Jimmy said proudly.
“We were voluntold,” Jim corrected.
Mr. Everly sighed. “Well, just don’t touch nothin’.”
This was meant as a warning.
To Jimmy Matthew, it was a challenge.
⁂
Civic Initiative Gone Horribly Right
The boys’ first task was simple. Sweep.
A broom. A sidewalk. No room for disaster.
They lasted seven minutes.
“Mr. Everly,” Jimmy said, leaning on his broom like a political consultant, “you ever notice how crooked that lamppost is?”
“It’s been that way for thirty years,” Mr. Everly muttered. “Leave it alone.”
But Jimmy had already switched from sweeping to engineering.
“Jim Leroy,” he said, “fetch that rope.”
This was the rope Piedmont used for everything: pullin’ cars out of ditches, swingin’ over water holes, and occasionally removing old refrigerators from drainage creeks.
The boys tied the rope to the lamppost.
“What’s the plan?” Jim asked.
“We straighten it,” Jimmy said. “And Piedmont wins the Governor’s Award for Beautification.”
“We get a plaque?”
“We get our names in the paper.”
Jim Leroy’s eyes lit up. This was dangerous.
They pulled.
And pulled.
And pulled.
The lamppost creaked.
Groaned.
Considered its life choices.
Then it fell.
Not gracefully.
Not gently.
But with the dignity of a cow bein’ tipped by moonlight.
It hit the ground with a clang that scattered pigeons clear into Cherokee County.
Mr. Everly screamed a word no Baptist deacon had any business knowing.
Panic, Plans, and Philosophical Collapse
“Oh no,” Jimmy whispered. “We’ve committed a civic misdeed.”
Jim Leroy nodded solemnly. “We’re outlaws now.”
Mr. Everly was doin’ a small circle dance of grief.
“What have you done? That lamppost survived storms, vandals, six mayors, and it can’t survive you two for half an hour.”
Jimmy swallowed hard.
“Mr. Everly, sir, we can fix it.”
“Fix it?” His voice cracked like a brittle pine knot. “Unless one of you boys is secretly a master welder, we are doomed.”
The boys exchanged a glance.
“Well,” Jim said, “we do know somebody with tools.”
Jimmy nodded. “Zeek.”
Mr. Everly blanched. “Absolutely not. That man once tried to fix a toaster and burned down a chicken coop.”
But it was too late. Jimmy was already runnin’.
⁂
Enter Zeek Monroe, Patron Saint of Bad Ideas
Zeek arrived with a truck full of equipment, half of which was illegal in three neighboring states.
“Boys,” he grinned, “let’s rebuild Piedmont.”
He fired up a generator.
Miss Tanner arrived in time to see the lamppost sparking, Zeek cackling, and both boys wearing goggles far too large for their heads.
“What in tarnation,” she whispered, “have I done?”
Fifteen seconds later, the generator exploded in a puff of smoke that smelled faintly of burnt marshmallows.
Zeek whooped.
Mr. Everly fainted.
Miss Tanner resigned loudly and on the spot.
⁂
A Miraculous Ending
Turns out, the town council had already planned to replace the lamppost that week.
When they found the boys standin’ beside the fallen relic, covered in soot and civic pride, they assumed the boys had helped.
The newspaper headlines the next morning read:
YOUTH TAKE INITIATIVE TO IMPROVE TOWN
And there were their pictures.
Jimmy Matthew pointin’ proudly.
Jim Leroy lookin’ confused but heroic.
Miss Tanner retracted her resignation with a deep sigh.
Mr. Everly came to terms with his fate.
And Zeek insisted the explosion had been “ninety percent intentional.”
Only Piedmont would believe that.
⁂
As for Jimmy Matthew and Jim Leroy
They received certificates.
They received accolades.
They received a stern lecture from three different churches.
But most importantly, they strutted around town sayin’ they had saved Piedmont from a crooked lamppost through skill, bravery, and “a smidge of applied science.”
And nobody argued.
Not because they believed it.
But because when those two boys get to talkin’, reality is merely a guest in the conversation.
olbigjim 