“Oh, that there? That there’s my niece. Helluva gal. Doctor, you know. Put her through medical school. I ever mention that? If I were a bettin’ man, and I ain’t sayin’ I ain’t, I’d put my money on ‘Yes, Red, you’ve mentioned that.’ What can I say? Ain’t every uncle knows people are out there livin’ and breathin’ on account of what your money helped teach your brother’s daughter to do. You do that, you shout it to the world. Not for them you understand, but for you! It’s healthy to give yourself three cheers now and then. Nobody else gonna do it for you. Ah well. Them’s the breaks. Now you strike me as the strong silent type. Not much for talkin’ yourself up. Man o’ your reputation doesn’t need to do his own advertising. Tried my hand in the ad game myself one time. I know, I know, it sure don’t look that way when you look around this ol’ place, but that’s just because I doubt ol’ Emmett gets the Pennysaver delivered out his way. If’n he did you’d take a look at it on that porch o’ his one mornin’ and say ‘Now that Red Webster, he’s one old geezer can make his copy *sing.*’ Yep, do it all m’self: writin’, layout, photography, the works. Price the damn sales too, naturally, and not with one o’ them fancy calculators they’re makin’ over in Tokyo or that Silicone Valley, or even down in Texas with them instruments. World’s smallest violin, that’s the only instrument a Texan’s ever played for me. Hell, I deserved it. Long story. Water under the bridge. Used the same camera to take that pic of Elizabeth as I do for all the ads, too. Now don’t get me wrong, I like the shop, I really do. Otherwise I’d just sell to Brad Wesley in toto and get the hell outta Doge. In a Dodge. Fancy that. Funny thing about Wesley is I took that picture of her the day she heard back from the county clerk that they’d finalized h—well. Not my place to say really. You ever get the chance to talk to her about that picture, why she looked so damn beautiful and serious and strong, best just sit back and let her do the talkin’. That was a day alright. Camera’s seen me through a lot, y’know. Lotta memories I mighta forgot otherwise. Nothin’ fancy, that camera. Coulda upgraded over the years I suppose, back before Wesley got his hooks in the place. I just never saw the upside to payin’ more money for a fancier version of what already worked perfectly fine. Don’t know why people ever do it any different. Thing about technology—it’s a glitterin’ lure. But once in a blue moon you can really hit folks where they live if you show ’em somethin’ they’re already fond o’ seein’. Worked at a furrier once. First job. In-house. Boss was this old-pro copywriter. Teddy, his name was. Greek. Don’t that beat all. This Teddy, he says to me ‘Red, the word you need first in your vernacular is
“new.” You give ’em the itch for new and it ain’t a matter of if they’re gonna scratch it but when. The new thing’s calamine lotion, plain and simple. But you really wanna glue the people and the product together, there’s another word you’d better learn: Nostalgia.’ Delicate thing. Potent. Pain from an old wound. That’s what it means in Greek, Teddy tells me anyway. Twinge in your heart. Leaves plain ol’ memory in the dust. That camera, it’s my time machine. Forwards, backwards, don’t matter. Anytime I got the ache to go someplace I wish I never left but can’t get back to, place makes me feel like a child, place that feels like home, I head to the darkroom. If there’s any place in God’s creation I know I’m loved…well, you’re lookin’ at it right there. Behind my niece, I mean. That’ll be $17.48 with tax, Mr. Weiner.”
Tags: dr. elizabeth clay, red webster, road house, the carousel