The Wilbur Z. Rickenbacker III Memorial Highway
A heart-stopping tale of tundra folk (around Vaigly Mehodistic College)
“Who was Wilbur Z. Rickenbacker III?” asked Norbert.
It was an abrupt question. The conversation in the faculty lounge had been meandering here and there for maybe ten minutes, sometimes petering out for a moment before flickering back into life. But this had nothing whatsoever to do with the previous chit-chat about college trivia.
“Who was who?” countered Richard.
“Exactly.”
“Huh?”
“It’s just as I thought. Have you never noticed that sign on State Route 26, north of McGurgle Heights, leading up to the interstate? Well, neither had I until last Saturday. It’s the Wilbur Z. Rickenbacker III Memorial Highway. And I thought at the time: I wouldn’t mind betting no one actually remembers him. Well, you’re the third person I’ve asked. And ... zip. It’s a memorial for someone no one remembers.”
“I know who he was, actually”, McCoy chipped in from the counter over by the coffee machine. “But, basically, you’re right. He’s been quietly forgotten. I’m one of the very few who remembers — and that’s just because he was married to my aunt Cindy. When the highway dedication was made, back in the late 1980s, most people up there in Peary County disapproved, and there was some argument afterward by a few who wanted it reversed. But the fuss died down, the sign’s still there — and he’s slipped into well-earned oblivion.”
“Wow!” said Norbert. “Who on earth was he? Someone controversial?”
“Not really. Just a worthy on the county board. He’d served for thirty years; been a rotarian; a school governor: all the usual stuff. He would have been delighted at having a road named after him. It was his fondest desire to be known as a public benefactor.”
“So ... why the public silence about him since?”
“Well, he had ... a benefactress.”
“Ahh, I see. He got caught?”
“In the very act of ... benefaction.”
Norbert winced.
“So there was a scandal?”
“Well, word was slow to get out after it was discovered, and he made strenuous efforts to hush it all up. Said the accusations were politically motivated.”
“But they clearly weren’t....”
“Hardly. He was discovered by his wife.”
“Your auntie?”
“Yes. Anyway, he died of heart failure a few weeks after that.”
“Caused by the stress of it all, no doubt.”
“Well, the doctor’s report said it was caused by the bullet entering his aorta.”
A pause.
“Ahh”, said Norbert, “yes, that generally does it.”
“They let Cindy out after twelve years. She’s back in the area, though; you must have met her.”
“Cindy Rickenbacker? I don’t recall....”
“No. She married Mike Stones over in New Yakutsk.”
“Mrs. Stones? The old lady who teaches Sunday school to the eighth graders?”
“That’s the one.”