Author Note: This is part 6 of a series. It can be read independently, but it will make a lot more sense if you read the episodes in order.

The characters presented in this story are entirely fictional and not intended to represent any members of a real life railroading or model railroading organization.

Background Info: The Scioto River runs through central Ohio, emptying into the Ohio River south of Columbus. Scioto (pronounced SY-OH-TOH) actually means "deer" in the Wyandot language spoken by the branch of the Huron Indian tribe that once inhabited central Ohio. Railroads formed an important part of the local economy throughout the 19th and early 20th centuries. Both the Norfolk & Western Railroad and the Chesapeake & Ohio Railroad had branch lines running through the Scioto Valley. By the 1980s only a single line owned by the Norfolk Southern Railway was still in use. Many of the other railroad tracks in the valley were gone, having been torn out and replaced with hiking and biking trails that followed the meandering course of the river through the valley.

Local interest in railroading remained high, with a few small railroad and trolley museums located in some of the major towns along the old right of way. There was also the Scioto Valley Model Railroading Society, a group of men and boys who operated a large HO scale layout in the basement of a local church. The massive 24 foot by 32 foot layout modeled the local railroads as they existed circa 1950, when steam locomotives were still in use but diesel locomotives were being introduced. The members of the society dubbed their layout the Scioto Valley Railroad (SVRR).

In the summer of 1984 a car-load of members of the Scioto Valley Model Railroading Society went on a road trip...

The gang got back to their Seaboard Coast Line caboose just after 9 PM on Tuesday night. Kenny immediately turned on the television, his usual reaction when he entered a room where the TV wasn't already on. "Darn it!" said Kenny, "we missed The A-Team!"

"Oh geez," said Rob, "it's only a rerun."

"I know!" said Kenny, "But this was a good season."

"I guess," said Casey, "if you like that sort of thing."

"You don't like The A-Team, Casey?" said Kenny.

"Nah," said Casey. "I prefer military shows where the marksmanship is a bit better than it is on The A-Team."

"Hannibal and the guys are great shots!" said Kenny, eager to defend his heroes. "They hit everything they aim at!"

"I wouldn't say that," said Casey. "Besides, what about the bad guys?"

"Ah, yes," said Donald as he rummaged thru the storage pockets of his suitcase, "The Principle of Evil Marksmanship."

"Huh?" said Kenny, looking very confused.

"I read about it somewhere," said Donald, "The Principle of Evil Marksmanship states that in action stories, the bad guys can be exceptionally accurate marksmen, except when they're shooting at the heroes...then they can't hit the broad side of barn."

Rob laughed, "Like the Imperial stormtroopers in Star Wars."

"Exactly," said Donald, chuckling. He stopped rummaging because he apparently had found what he was looking for, a set of silver... thumbcuffs?

"Dad," said Rob, "what are you doing with thumbcuffs? Are we in some kind of trouble?"

Donald laughed, "This is a cigar cutter, not thumbcuffs. You don't want to put your thumb... or any other appendage... in here."

"What are you doing with a cigar cutter?" said Kenny. "And... what is a cigar cutter?"

"Believe it or not," said Donald, "you use it to cut cigars."

"But you don't smoke cigars," said Rob.

"Well...," said Donald, "I don't smoke them at home. Your mother doesn't like it when I smoke. But when I'm on the road sometimes I will enjoy a cigar."

"What kind of cigars do you smoke?" said Kenny.

"I don't have a particular brand," said Donald. "I like to try different things. Tom brought some imported cigars with him, so we're going for a stroll and a smoke."

"Now?" said Casey. "I'm supposed to remind you to wash my mouth out with soap."

"Oh, right," said Donald. "Well, that can wait until I get back. Yes, we wanted to do it tonight since it's a beautiful evening out there. Can I trust you guys to not burn down the caboose or kill each other if I go out for an hour?"

"Sure, Dad," said Rob, "we'll be fine for an hour." Casey and Kenny added their reassurances.

"Okay," said Donald, "Kenny and Casey, don't forget you both need to shower tonight." Then he headed out to meet Thomas for their stroll.

Kenny stripped down to his briefs, apparently planning to take a shower, then he changed his mind and plopped down on the queen bed to watch television. He was watching a Remington Steele rerun, but he obviously still had The A-Team on his mind. "What was that stuff dad was saying about the evil marksmen?"

"It's pretty simple, really," said Casey. "No matter how accurately the bad guys can shoot, they can never seem to hit the protagonist or his buddies."

"The protagonist?" said Kenny.

"The protagonist is the main hero of a story," said Casey. "The antognist is the main villain of a story."

Kenny pondered this for a bit. "So in dad's theory, the bad guys can't hit the protogonist?"

"Correct," said Casey. "Which means that it's really good to be the protagonist in a story."

"Yeah," said Rob. "It is really good to be the protagonist in a story." He turned and favored the readers with his best Burt Reynolds-style shit eating grin.

"Who the hell are you grinning at?" said Kenny.

"Oh, nobody important," said Rob, as he turned back towards his brother and best friend.

"He just gets weirder every day," said Kenny. He twirled his finger near his head and sighed.

"That much is certain," said Casey, shaking his head sadly. "I'm gonna go grab a shower."

Rob stripped down to his briefs and flopped down on the queen-sized bed to watch the Remington Steele rerun with Kenny. It was an episode about some kind of odd circus and he soon lost interest in Pierce Brosnan's shenanigans. He was running through the events of a very long and incredibly strange day that was finally, and mercifully, drawing to a close. Among other things Rob had witnessed the very public punishments of five boys, three of whom he knew quite well, and one of whom was his best friend in the world. Damn that Casey and his stupid fucking signs!

The only thing more annoying than Casey's habit of looking for "signs" in everyday things and applying strange predictions to them was the fact that he was proven right with disturbing frequency. Although he tried to discourage this habit in Casey and ignore his friend's predictions, Rob knew that too many of Casey's predictions came true for him to be able to completely ignore them. More to the point in the current situation, Rob was quite uncomfortably aware of the fact that his own caboose was now the only one of the six that had not experienced corporal punishment since their arrival in Strasburg the previous evening. He very much wanted to keep it that way.

Well, all he needed to do was stay out of trouble for another 24 hours. Was that really all that hard? Couldn't he make it through one day without robbing a bank, burning down a caboose, shoplifting, starting a war, selling drugs, causing an international incident, buying drugs, tipping a cow, undertippimg a waiter, using drugs, swearing, stealing a car, attending his own funeral, stealing a train, running away, playing in traffic, causing an intergalactic incident, cheating at solitaire, breaking the fourth wall, passing bad checks, or killing anyone? Probably, although the last one could prove tricky depending on just how annoying Kenny managed to be tomorrow.

Rob's contemplations were interrupted by a disturbance in the Force. On further examination of the audio evidence, it was actually a fight in the bathroom. From the sounds of it, Kenny had snuck into the bathroom and caught Casey 'grunting' in the shower. Terrific, Kenny might not even make it until tomorrow. As attractive as that option appeared on its face, Rob felt a deep-seated fraternal obligation to save his brother's life, that is if it wasn't already too late. He dragged his tired and unspanked butt off the bed and dashed down the short hallway to the bathroom.

"Let me go Robby, ya big ape!" squawked Kenny as he was manhandled down the hallway, away from the bathroom.

"Shut up, ya little runt," said Rob, as he gave his little brother a mighty shove towards the queen bed, "I'm saving your life."

"I don't need your help with a pushover like Casey," said Kenny. He plopped himself down on the foot of the bed, obviously in a huff. "Why do you always take his side, anyway? I'm your brother, he's just a friend."

"That's easy," said Rob. "I got to choose Casey as my friend. I'm stuck with you as my brother."

"You hate me, don't you?" said Kenny, displaying his patented petulant expression.

"Of course not, Munchkin, I love you. But you do annoy the living shit out of me sometimes."

Kenny grumbled. "I don't always do that on purpose, you know."

"Not always?" said Casey, who had padded down the hallway naked, except for the towel wrapped around his waist. "Which means that you do it on purpose sometimes?"

"Yeah," said Kenny, his fists clenched. He had a very challenging, 'what are you gonna do about it?' look on his face.

It had been a very long day and Rob did not want to fight with his little brother. He recalled a flash of insight he experienced during a rock concert he had attended with Casey just a few weeks ago and he suddenly found himself singing...

The world weighs on my shoulders
But what am I to do?
You sometimes drive me crazy
But I worry about you.

Casey grinned and began playing an air guitar accompaniment while Rob sang the rest of the refrain...

I know it makes no difference
To what you're going through
But I see the tip of the iceberg
And I worry about you.

Then Casey broke out into an air guitar solo, while Rob undertook an air bass guitar solo. Together they "sang" a progressive rock instrumental solo as they danced around the room. Evemtually Rob repeated the two stanzas of lyrics and they finished with an instrumental flourish.

Kenny lounged on the bed and watched this performance, his expression alternating between confusion and bemusement. When they finished he said, "What the hell was that?"

"The chorus and solo from 'Distant Early Warning' by Rush," said Rob.

"That rock band you guys went to see in Columbus last month?"

"Yep," said Casey. "It's from their new album, Grace Under Pressure."

"So why did you sing that to me?" said Kenny. "You think I'm an iceberg?"

"No, Munchkin," said Rob laughing. "The key lyrics are 'You sometimes drive me crazy, but I worry about you'. At that concert last month I realized that's how I really feel about you."

Kenny shook his head slowly. "You were at a rock concert listening to your favorite band, and you were thinking about me?"

"For a few seconds, yes," said Rob. "I thought about a lot of things and people that night. Rush has lyrics that are very thought-provoking if you bother to listen to them."

"Were you guys on drugs at that concert?" said Kenny, flashing a suspicious grin.

"No, Kenny," said Casey. "You know we don't do drugs."

"I know you say you don't do drugs."

Casey looked ready to lunge at Kenny, "Why you little..."

Rob quickly stepped between the two potential combatants. "Everybody calm down!"

Casey took a deep breath. "Kenny, in case you haven't figured it out yet, your brother is trying to tell you that he loves you."

"He is?"

"Yes, I am," said Rob. "I love you despite the fact that you drive me crazy. So it's not very nice of you to make spurious accusations about illegal drug usage."

"Spurious?"

"It means fake or false," said Casey.

Rob happened to know that 'spurious' was one of Casey's favorite vocabulary words from eighth grade English class. He kind of liked it himself.

Kenny processed this information for a few seconds, then the kid actually had the grace to look a bit embarrassed. "Sorry, Robby. Sorry, Casey. I know you guys aren't drug addicts."

"Thank you," said both teens in unison.

"Can I ask you guys a serious question?" said Kenny.

Rob exchanged glances with Casey, then said, "Yeah, sure."

Kenny gathered himself. "Why do you guys play with your 'things' like Casey was doing in the shower?"

"Geez, Kenny!" said Rob, "You'll find out soon enough, okay? That's an adult thing."

"You guys aren't adults!"

"Maybe not yet," said Casey, "but we're a hell of a lot closer to it than you are."

"Okay," said Kenny. "I know I'm still just a boy, but dad tells me I won't be for long. He warned me about things called 'wet dreams'."

"He did?" said Casey.

"Yeah."

"What exactly did he tell you about them?" said Rob, trying not to smirk.

"He warned me that some morning in the next year or two I'll wake up and think that I've wet the bed, but that it won't smell like pee. He said when that happens I should come and talk to him, cause I'll have started puberty and there are things we will need to discuss."

"Yep," said Rob, "that sounds like basically the same speech he gave me back when I was eleven. I talked to him again when the time came. You should do the same."

"But I don't wanna wait!" said Kenny, reverting back to petulant mode, otherwise known as 'default Kenny mode'.

"Kenny," said Rob, trying not to sound too irritated, "there are some things in life you can't rush. All you can do is wait until puberty comes calling."

"I get that," said Kenny. "But couldn't you guys.... you know... give me a little... demonstration?"

"Demonstration of what?" said Casey.

"You know..." said Kenny, "playing with yourselves."

"No way!" said Casey, "Your dad would kill us!"

"Why?" said Kenny.

"No," said Rob, "I don't think dad would kill us, but I don't think he'd be very happy if we were doing it in front of you."

"Listen," said Kenny. "We heard you guys grunting off in the woods after Sam's lickin' today. Are you saying that dad didn't know what you guys were doing out there?"

"Well," said Rob, embarrassed that their grunting had been that loud, "yeah he did."

"So what's the difference?" said Kenny.

"You weren't there!" said Casey.

"So?" said Kenny. "I'm a guy too, so what's the problem? See! Robby's gettin a boner just thinking about it!"

Rob was finding it very hard to think of an argument against Kenny's request... and that wasn't the only thing that was very hard. He really needed to jerk off soon. If the brat wasn't gonna give them any peace.... He exchanged looks with Casey. His friend shrugged. Rob walked over to the window. He peeked through the curtains and could see no sign of Donald or Thomas in the parking lot. Apparently they were still out on their stroll.

"Dad said he'd be gone an hour," said Rob, checking the clock radio on the night stand as he walked over to the bed. "He's only been gone about 30 minutes, so we should have at least 15 minutes until he gets back, even if he comes back a bit early."

Rob exchanged another glance with Casey, then made his decision. He slipped his briefs down and then off, exposing his rock hard erection. Casey shrugged and loosened the towel around his waist and allowed it to fall to the floor. Casey was also proudly erect. "Where's the beef?" said Casey, mimicking the old lady on the popular commercial. Then he pointed at his erection, "I got your all-beef sausage right here!"

"Nice sausage," said Rob, looking with admiration at Casey's display. Then he pointed at his own erection, "But I got the Whopper over here! With a side of meatballs!"

Kenny laughed at their jokes, but he stared in amazement at the two teen erections on display. "Wow! You guys are huge down there! Will I get that big, too?"

"Maybe," said Rob, who frankly doubted it, "maybe not. Only time will tell."

"So," said Kenny, after a few seconds of silence. "What happens next?"

"What happens next is that you get naked too," said Rob.

"Why do I have to get naked?" said Kenny, begining to squirm a bit from nervousness.

"We're guys too," said Casey, parroting Kenny's words back at him, "so what's the problem?"

"But I'm not giving the demonstration," protested Kenny.

"If you really want a live demonstration of masturbation," said Rob, "you should practice on yourself while you watch."

"But I can't.... do anything... yet."

Casey laughed. "Just because you can't squirt yet doesn't mean you can't have fun."

"Hmmm," Kenny seemed hesitant and unsure what to do.

"Tick tock," said Rob, pointing towards the clock radio. "Dad will be back soon, so it's now or never. Either drop your briefs and see a show or go take a shower."

Kenny hesitated another five seconds and then he hopped to his feet. He slipped his thumbs into the waistband of his white Fruit of the Looms and slid his briefs down and off. Then he stood up straight, his hands at his sides. He looked down at his own hairless immature genitals, a disappointed look on his face.

"It's not bad," said Rob, trying to soothe his brother, "for an eleven-year-old."

"Yeah," said Casey. "You don't have a boner, Kenny. Rob and I do, not to mention that we're three years older than you."

"So mine will get bigger?" said Kenny, still looking a bit sad.

"Oh, hell yes!" said Rob.

Kenny looked up, a rascally grin on his face, "Okay you two... if you're such studs, show me your 'whoppers' in action!" He flopped down on the foot of the bed and lounged there, ready to see a show.

Rob grabbed one of his socks, keeping it in his left hand to be used for cleanup. Meanwhile Casey grabbed a couple of tissues from the dispenser on top of the dresser. In doing so Casey put his striped backside on display.

"Wow!" said Kenny, "those welts from your lickin' look really sore, Casey. Do they still hurt?"

"Not much," said Casey, rubbing a hand gently over the stripes. "Only when I sit on a hard chair or something."

Rob's boner throbbed and stiffened even more while he gazed at his friend's well-striped bottom. At least Casey's bottom wasn't a complete mess like Sam's had been. The damage was limited mostly to the lower curves of his butt cheeks and the crease between butt and thigh. Of course there was the one diagonal cross stroke that ended on top of the right thigh, which was sporting the most livid welt of the whole collection. But the rest of Casey's backside was still white, providing a nice background for the red stripes.

Rob wasted no more time since the clock was still ticking. He lay back on the right side of the bed and began stroking his erection while thinking about all the spankings and switchings he had seen... and participated in that day. Casey lay back on the left side of the bed and started vigorously massaging his sausage.

"So that feels good, or something?" said Kenny as he watched the two teens masturbate while he unconsiously stroked his own little dick, which started to grow a bit, showing some interest in current events.

"Yeah it feels good," said Rob, "especially at the end, when you orgasm."

"Orgasm?" said Kenny, still absently stroking himself.

"Yep," said Casey, "this incredible feeling washes over you, and that's where all the grunting comes in."

"That's when stuff comes out?" said Kenny.

"Yes," said Rob. "That's when your semen comes out."

"And that's what makes a baby?" said Kenny.

"Well yeah," said Rob. "If you stick your dick in a girl's pussy and it's the right time of the month, you can make her pregnant when you shoot out the semen."

"Haven't you had sex education class yet?" said Casey.

"Nope," said Kenny. "I'm starting middle school in a few weeks. We'll probably have sex education in sixth grade, or maybe seventh grade."

"Yeah, well," said Casey. "Try not to get your teacher pregnant if it's a female teacher."

"What?" said Kenny, his facial expression a combination of amazement and horror, "You actually get to have sex in sex education class?"

"Of course," said Rob, trying not to laugh as he went along with Casey's joke, "it's basically a biology class. You have to do lab work."

Kenny looked horrified and near panic, then his expression changed to one of suspicion. "Nice try guys, I know you're just yanking my chain."

"No," said Rob. "You are yanking your chain, we are yanking our own chains."

"Ha! Ha!" said Kenny. "You know what I mean."

Rob laughed, "Yeah, we know what yo..."

"Oh man!" said Casey, "I'm gonna cum! Watch this, Kenny!"

Kenny watched in amazement as Casey shot his load all over his belly, four lines of white semen that was grunted out, some of it reaching his chest.

"Wow!" said Kenny.

Meanwhile Rob could tell he was getting close as well. As he stroked himself he imagined Casey and Kenny both bending over the foot of the queen bed while Rob slammed his father's new Attitude Adjuster paddle into their bare asses. He would move back and forth, giving each upturned pair of cheeks its turn. First he paddled Kenny's little unmarked butt and then he placed a solid paddle whack across the stripes already decorating Casey's backside. Back and forth, whack after whack until his brother and his best friend were crying and begging him to stop. But he just kept whacking their sore rear ends over and over again... and then he was grunting out his passion, four lines of white semen, the first of which almost reached his own chin.

Rob lay back on the bed, eyes closed, exhausted in the exquisite afterglow of his orgasm.

"Can I touch your semem, Rob?" said Kenny.

Rob sighed, his eyes still closed. He said...

"I wouldn't advise it," said Donald.

Rob's eyes snapped open and he looked over towards the door, where his father was standing, a stunned look on his face. Kenny and Casey were frozen in place. It looked for a few seconds like the entire room was in suspended animation. Then Donald closed the door behind him and walked over to the bed and gazed down at the three naked, motionless boys. "I guess I need to be more all-encompassing in my warnings from now on. But I would have never guessed that 'no Greek orgies' would be one of the required warnings. At least not before you guys went off to college."

"So Kenny wanted a demonstration?" said Donald. He was sitting on a chair facing the bed, where the three boys nervously sat for the interview. Before questioning the boys, Donald had Rob and Casey clean their recent deposits off of their chests and bellies with a spare towel. Then he had all three boys put on briefs. The man rubbed his right temple, "I suppose I can understand that."

"Are you mad at us, Dad?" said Kenny.

"No," said Donald, sounding very tired. "I'm not angry with you guys. Stunned is a much better word to describe what I'm feeling. But everyone kept their hands to themselves, so no real harm was done."

"So how was the cigar?" said Rob, eager to change the subject.

"Oh, it was great!" said Donald.

"What brand was it?" said Casey.

"Padron," said Donald. "A Padron Classico."

"Ah," said Casey, "Habana cigars, the best."

"So I've heard," said Donald, "But Cuban cigars are still illegal here. This cigar was from Nicaragua. How did you know to pronounce it Habana instead of Havana, Casey?"

"There was this guy in our neighborhood back in Alabama," said Casey. "A sailor in the merchant marine. He used to bring home boxes of Habana cigars from his cruises and sell them for a nice profit."

Rob was confused, "If Cuban cigars are still illegal, didn't he get caught?"

"Nope," said Casey. "I guess nobody reported him."

"The ban on Cuban cigars in the United States is a political one," said Donald. "Not because of health reasons or anything. So not everyone agrees with the ban, making violations less likey to be reported."

"You still don't smoke them," said Kenny.

"No way!" said Donald. "The fine for importing or possessing Cuban cigars in this country is up to $250,000. That's almost what our entire house is worth! Besides, people have transplanted genuine Cuban tobacco seeds to places like Nicaragua, so the cigars from those countries are about the same quality as Cuban cigars, but completely legal here in the United States."

"Wow!" said Casey. "A quarter million dollars, that's crazy!"

"That's politics," said Donald, "which is more than a little crazy."

"Dad, can I ask another question?" said Rob.

"Sure," said Donald. "In fact you just did."

"Huh?" said Rob, then he chuckled. "Oh, yeah right. Anyway, my question is about Sergeant Hummel. Why did he get so angry with Officer Shoemaker after he made his report?"

"Ah," said Donald, "good question! I suspect it was because Officer Shoemaker was kind of incompetent."

"Incompetent?" said Casey, "Why?"

"Well," said Donald, "he engaged in a dangerous pursuit of a minor who was not violent or posing an immediate threat to anyone. Not only did this unnecessary pursuit cause Mark to run into traffic, endangering his life and the lives of motorists, but then the idiot followed the kid into traffic endangering his own life, and further endangering the lives of motorists."

"I'm confused," said Kenny. "Mark didn't do anything wrong?"

"I didn't say that!" said Donald. "Mark was really stupid too. Running away just because he knocked over a waiter with a tray of food? No, he deserved the whipping he got. But that officer made a bad situation worse, and he was an adult who should have known better."

"So," said Kenny, "is that Officer Shoemaker guy in trouble?"

"I expect so," said Donald. "From the look on Sergeant Hummel's face he probably would have liked to take a switch to that idiot's backside too."

"That would be a sight!" said Casey.

"Yes it would," said Donald. "And well deserved, to boot!"

"Dad," said Kenny, "Grandpa used to whip you with the same strap that you use to give me and Robby lickin's, right?"

"Oh yes," said Donald, "many times."

"So how old were you when you got your last lickin' from Grandpa with that strap?"

"I was sixteen," said Donald.

"Sixteen?" said Rob. "I have another two years worth of lickin's to go?"

Donald laughed, "Maybe more than that. Uncle Randy got his last lickin' from Grandpa's strap when he was eighteen."

"Yikes!" said Kenny. "That's a real long way to go for me."

Donald shook his head sadly. "You guys do know that you can stop getting lickin's with the strap at any time if you start actually behaving yourselves, right? I'm not one of those loonies who whips his sons every week whether they did anything to deserve it or not. In fact the same thing goes for Casey's 'signs' prediction. Just behave yourselves and my new paddle won't see any use this trip."

"We know that, Dad," said Rob. "In fact I don't intend to ever get a lickin' ever again."

"That's the spirit!" said Donald. "Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to never have to use the old strap, or my new paddle, on your naughty backside ever again, Rob."

Rob was quite happy, basking in the glow of his father's approval, right up until the man continued, "Of course few things would surprise me more than if that actually happened."

"Shut up, Casey!" said Rob, angry at his traitorous 'best friend', whose unseemly laughter made his father's words sting all the more.

"Dad," said Kenny. "Would you tell us all about that last time Grandpa gave you a lickin' with the old strap?"

"All right," said Donald, after a few seconds of apparently careful consideration. "I suppose I could do that. If you all promise not to repeat the story to anyone else."

All three boys readily swore themselves to secrecy on this point. Casey said, "So, Donald. You were sixteen the last time your dad gave you a lickin with the strap. Let me guess, did it involve a car?"

Donald nodded, an impressed look on his face. "You are correct, Casey. I got it for damaging my dad's Chrysler Town & Country."

"Oh wow!" said Kenny. "You crashed grandpa's car? No wonder he licked you!"

"No," said Donald. "I did not crash grandpa's car. It was actually a lot stupider than that..."

"So what happened!" said Kenny, practically bouncing on the bed with excitement.

"I gonna tell you," said Donald. "If you stop interrupting me, Kenneth." He gave his youngest son a disappointed look.

"Sorry, Dad," said Kenny. "I'll keep quiet for the rest of the story."

"Could you make that for the rest of the week, Kenny?" said Rob.

"Robert!" said Donald. "You two stop it now or I'll go fetch my paddle and tell you both a very different kind of story.. one you won't like at all."

Rob realized he had nearly gone too far. Not trusting himself to speak at that moment, he merely put his thumb and forefinger to his lips and mimicked a locking motion. His lips were sealed.

"That's better," said Donald. "Now, if I can get a few minutes of silence and your complete attention, I will tell you my story."

Defiance County, Ohio. - September 1960

It was a beautiful Saturday morning in Northwest Ohio. Don Chandler whistled as he washed his father's car. The 1958 Chrysler New Yorker Town & Country station wagon was his father's main pride and joy. Well, apart from his sons. Don had shared this job with his younger brother Randy ever since their father had purchased the car two years earlier. But that day 13-year-old Randy was in trouble and confined to his room for the day, or was it the weekend?

Don had no problem with washing his father's car on his own. For one thing he really liked the styling of the 1958 Chrysler Town & Country. Okay, it was only a station wagon, but the gleaming blue paint was gorgeous, the dual headlights looked like eyes, and the tail fins made the vehicle look just a little bit like a space ship out of the Buck Rogers comic strip. Tail fins on a station wagon? Definitely the coolest station wagon on the road.

The car was powerful, too. It boasted a 392 cubic inch Hemi engine with dual exhausts that put out 345 horsepower. Don knew the car could really move, although his father never drove it like that. In fact it was quite a bit of car for an Associate Professor of Communications Studies at a small religious college. Don's mother worried about what the dean of Defiance College might think of Professor Martin Chandler driving such an overpowered car. Of course in Don's opinion his mother worried far too much about such things.

Don's mother was especially worried about her eldest son learning to drive in such an powerful car. Martin had begun giving his son basic driving lessons on empty parking lots at the college the previous summer, well before Don's late August birthday. Don was a quick study and had passed the road test on his first try. Now the almost newly minted sixteen-year-old had a very newly minted driver's license in his wallet and he was desperate to use it.

After the car dried Don carefully waxed it because he wanted the New Yorker to look absolutely perfect the first time he got to drive it himself. His father had given him permission to take the car to the movies that afternoon. Don couldn't wait! It would be the greatest Saturday afternoon of his life, at least so far.

In fact things started out well enough. First Don picked up his 15-year-old friend Gary Wexler. Then he drove them 14 miles to the Bryan Theater in Bryan, Ohio, to see a Saturday matinee of Oceans 11. That's when things began to go wrong.

As Don slammed the driver's door shut he spotted the keys still hanging in the ignition. Worse, before he could say anything he heard Gary slam the passenger door shut. "Noooo!!"

In fact, yes. The very first time Don was allowed to drive his father's car anywhere on his own he managed to lock the keys in the car! The boys checked and all the doors were locked, as was the tailgate.

To make a long story short - since it's getting late - Don and Gary were not able to open a door to retrieve the keys from the car, though not for lack of trying... too much trying, as it turns out. In the process they managed to damage the car's antenna and the electric window motor in the driver's door.

To add insult to injury Don had to call his father from a payphone and report the situation, although he 'forgot' to report the damage to the antenna (he didn't find out about the window motor until later). The real problem was that the Chandlers only owned the one car. So Don's father had no practical way to come and rescue his son.

In the end it was lucky that Don had brought Gary with him. They had to call Gary's parents and get Gary's mother to go to Don's house and get the spare set of keys to the New Yorker. Then she drove the 14 miles to Bryan to trade the spare keys for her son. Of course Mrs. Wexler had her own plans for Saturday afternoon and didn't aim to change them to suit the needs of careless teenaged boys. She told them it would be a few hours until she could get the keys and drop them off in Bryan. So ironically enough the boys actually had more than enough time to see Oceans 11 while they were waiting. It was a good movie, although Don didn't enjoy it as much as he reckoned he would have if the overall circumstances hadn't been so embarrassing.

So Don ended up getting a piece of Mrs. Wexler's mind as she exchanged the spare keys for her son. Then it was a long, lonely 14 mile drive back home, during which he discovered the broken window motor. Terrific! What else could possibly go wrong? Instead of arriving home in triumph from his first solo excursion as he had been expecting, when Don pulled the big wagon into the driveway right around dusk his tail was definitely between his legs.

His father had been angry to start with, and it got a lot worse once Don was forced to confess about the damage he had caused to the car while trying to use the antenna to jimmy open the door. He had no rational explanation as to why he though the radio antenna from the New Yotker would make a good tool for getting the door open. He was certain that he had read about it in a book, but his father did not consider that a rational explanation.

It certainly didn't count as justification for damaging his father's car instead of immediately calling for help. It did count as justification for his father making Don pull his pants and underwear down and bend over a chair in the man's private study that evening.

His father, who had grown up on a small farm over the border in east Indiana, used the same leather strap to blister Don's ass that his own father had used on him. The brown leather strap was just under 2 feet long and just over 2 inches wide. It was fastened to a well-worn wooden handle at one end. This homemade handle made the tough old leather strap easier to wield when being used to tan the hides of naughty boys. At that task it was singularly successful, as Don could once again attest.

Don didn't know how many licks of the strap he got that night as he clung desperately to the rungs of the chair, but it was more than enough to overcome his adolescent bravado and determination to take his licking 'like a man.' In fact by the time the last sizzling lick of the strap connected with his throbbing backside, Don was howling his head off, crying openly, and begging his father to stop the whipping. Except for the pitch of his voice, it was pretty much the same reaction he had the first time he got a lickin' with the old family strap when he was ten years old. All in all it wasn't a very pleasant way to spend a Saturday evening, particularly for a 16-year-old boy who definitely thought he had grown too old for that sort of nonsense.

After the strapping was over Don was made to stand in a corner of his father's office with his hands on his head as he sobbed himself out. As much as the boy wanted to rub his desperately sore lower cheeks, he was forced to stand there for at least an hour with his glowing red backside on display for review by his father as the man sat at his desk working.

"So that old strap made you cry too, Dad?" said Kenny.

"Oh yes," said Donald. "Every time grandpa used it on me... and Uncle Randy. I wouldn't be surprised if it has a perfect record. That old cowhide is a lot tougher than any boy's hide. I can't imagine any boy taking a lickin' with that thing and not crying."

"Wow," said Rob. "How much did the repairs to the car cost grandpa?"

"Nothing," said Donald.

"Nothing?" said Casey. "Did he have a friend who was a good mechanic?"

"Nope," said Donald, with a bitter laugh. "He made me pay for the damages. I think it was about $80. And that was a lot of money back in 1960!"

"I bet," said Casey. "Okay, I have to remind you once again that you said you would wash my mouth out with soap tonight. Could we please do that now if you still plan to do it?"

"Thank you for reminding me, Casey," said Donald. "Would your mother wash out your mouth out with soap if she heard you talk like you did on the train platform today in front of all those young children?"

Casey hung his head and said, "Yes, sir. She would."

"Well then, I suppose we need to get some soap in your mouth and give you some corner time to think things over," said Donald. He took Casey into the bathroom where he unwrapped one of those extra little bars of motel soap. He ran it under the faucet of the bathroom sink and got the bar nice and lathered up. Then he made Casey 'open wide' and placed the soap in his mouth. Then the man guided Casey back out into the living room, made him stand with his nose to the wall with his hands laced behind his head. Finally Donald pulled Casey's blue briefs down to his knees so his striped backside would be on display during his corner time.

"Think about how you got in that position," said Donald, his hand resting lightly on Casey's shoulder. "And think about what will happen if I hear you swearing like that again. You will be back in this position, but with a fresh batch of bruises on your backside from my new paddle."

Casey's corner time lasted nearly 30 minutes, during which time Kenny took his shower. Finally Casey was allowed to pull up his briefs and go wash the soap out of his mouth.

As he lay awake in his bunk that night waiting to fall asleep Rob thought back on what an incredibly long and weird day it had been. It had certainly been the weirdest Tuesday that Rob could recall.

Personal Note from the Author: I don't know why I'm admitting this to the world, but yes, the story Donald told about locking the keys in his father's car the very first time he was allowed to take it out alone actually happened to me. The year was 1973, the movie was The Poseidon Adventure playing at a theater in northeastern Pennsylvania, and the car was my father's 1970 Ford Galaxie station wagon, but otherwise that part of it really happened pretty much as described.

The major difference was that my friend (who was not named Gary) and I were not stupid enough to damage the car. After we exhausted all non-damaging possibilities of getting in the car ourselves I swallowed my pride and called my parents, and then his parents. My friend's mother did make us wait long enough that we got to see the film before she arrived with the spare keys and a copy of the Riot Act, which she proceeded to read to us. Of course my parents also read me the riot act when I got home, and it took a long time to live that one down. I was teased about it for weeks afterwards, both by my own family and by my friend's family.

My father was actually pretty cool about the whole situation, all things considered. The only cost to me was the price of duplicating a spare door key for the car which my father made me keep in my wallet from then on. This was a brilliant idea since I actually locked the keys in the car several times after that and was able to simply take the spare door key out of my wallet and get the keys out of the car.

Dedication: I spent many happy hours of my childhood engaged in railfan and model railroading activities with my father. This series is dedicated to the memory of my dad, who was a wonderful man and a great father.

The author welcomes comments from readers. You can contact Bobby Watson by e-mail at: mrbwatson (at) gmail.com
Please be patient - Bobby doesn't always check his e-mail every day.