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LITTLE JOE

by BUD TANT

February 18, 1992



It was well over 100 degrees that late April day as I weaved my way through a million Easter week revelers strung all along the Colorado River from Lake Havasu to the Redrock Campground at Parker, Arizona. It was close to 3:00 p.m., and I figure those one-million revelers had probably gone through fifteen to twenty million cans of beer that white-hot day. Loud rock and roll music mixed with the roar of hundreds of jet boats flying up the wide Colorado, and above the thundering din rose the laughter and excited, drunken voices of The Crowd. No doubt about it, there was a party going on. It had been going on for a week and Easter Sunday was still three days away.

I wound my way through the colorful bikinis, nodding to a pretty lady here; winking at another pretty girl there. The Good Lord could have taken me at that very moment, and I'd have died with a smile on my face.

I meandered through the teeming crowd with food on my mind. A scant fifteen minutes earlier some fool had paid me fifty dollars for a Moroccan leather cowboy hat I'd owned and I was going to invest in a burger. The guy had begged me for the hat each time I'd seen him, and that was over several days. But when he said "fifty bucks," well, he'd bought himself a damn cowboy hat.

Now I was on my way to the burger stand, damned-near rich. I'd been half-blind for (i.e., unable to see anything other than females of the human species) for several days. It had been a party to remember and I hadn't gotten around to eating very often or very much for most of that week. There comes a time in every man's life when he has to eat a burger, and that time was NOW for me.

I very nearly ran over the little person. My eyes had been fixed at approximately chest level for some time, and I very nearly tripped over the little waif of a human being. I heard the child before I actually saw the little guy. It was a sound filled with hopelessness and dispair, a soul-wracking series of sobs.

I looked down and saw a little boy with the whitest hair I've ever seen on a human being. His face was buried in grubby little hands and the white mane of hair was matted with many days worth of dirt and grime. I knelt in front of the little guy and said, "hey, what's wrong, partner?"

He looked up and I saw the most incredibly blue eyes I've ever seen, staring at me. Tears ran down his filthy cheeks, creating pale lines in the dirt and snot that covered his face. He was barefoot and, to my horror, I saw that he had huge sores which had once been blisters all over his shoulders and face.

"Lenny," he began, "I lost Lenny!" The voice was incongruous. He sounded like "Froggy" from "The Little Rascals" series. Snot ran from his sore of a nose and he wiped at it with a grubby little paw of a hand.

"Well, don't you worry about it, because we're going to find Lenny," I consoled him. "Why don't you come with me and we'll get you fixed up. Are you hungry?"

"Yes," he said. He'd quit crying and he took the hand I offered him.

I took a couple of steps and saw immediately that his feet were in no condition to be carrying his solid little body. All he wore was a soiled pair of cut-off jeans.

"Hey, what's your name?" I asked him.

"Joe," he said in that big voice of his.

"Well, Joe, how'd you like to ride on my shoulders?"

"Yeah," he croaked, "Gimme a ride!"

I hoisted Joe onto my shoulders and he grabbed a lock of my long hair in each hand.

"Giddyup!" he commanded. Away we went in search of burgers.

It was the beginning of a beautiful friendship...


Little Joe was a mean jockey. He kicked me with his heels and whipped me with my own hair. He had a great vantage point from where he was sitting and he directed me (drove me) straight to the nearest hamburger stand.

"Hey, easy on my damn hair!" I had to tell him a few times, but Joe wasn't very corrigible. I could tell right away that Joe wasn't taking any instructions from a damn horse, so I just suffered in silence after my initial pleas had fallen on deaf ears.

When we arrived at the burger stand, I lifted Joe from my shoulders and asked him if he wanted a burger and fries.

"I want two burgers and french fries," he told me.

"Well, why don't you just let me get you one and then if you want another one, you can have it?" I suggested.

"I want TWO burgers!" he stated with finality.

I knew when I was whipped, so I just told the young girl working the counter, "Give us four burgers with everything, two fries and, what do you want to drink, Joe?"

"I want a beer," he stated nonchalantly.

"I'm going to have to check your ID before you get a beer," I told him, "and since you don't have a wallet, I doubt if you have any ID. So, what do you want to drink?"

"I want a beer," he said firmly.

"Give us two cokes with that," I told the amused girl.

We got our food and I carried the bag in one hand while Joe carried the drinks. I held Joe in my other arm, with him dripping cola down my chest and stomach with each step I took. We found a patch of shade beneath a large shrub and sat down. I handed Joe his burgers, fries and some napkins and we began to feast.

His hair fell nearly a foot past his well-rounded shoulders. "How old are you, Joe?" I asked, between mouthfuls of burger.

"Three," he said through a mouth stuffed with burger.

I was amazed. He was only three years old and he had muscle definition in his shoulders and arms. His dirty little legs were muscular, too, and long hair or no long hair, it was easy to see that Joe was 100% a little man.

Now, I've never been one to eat for the enjoyment of eating, so I usually finish my food well before the person I'm eating with. Not this time. Joe hung with me bite-for-bite, and before I'd finished eating, I heard the tell-tale slurping sound that meant his large cola was history. His mood had lightened noticeably and when he had gulped the last french fry he ignored the napkins, wiped his greasy mouth with his grubby little hands, and burped hugely.

"You must have been really hungry," I said to him.

"Yup," he confirmed, "but I ain't now."

I picked up our trash and carried it to one of the trash receptacles, then went back and hoisted Joe onto my shoulders again.

"Come on, man, we're going to get cleaned up and put something on that sunburn of yours. Then we'll go find Lenny."

As I wound my way back through the crowd, people kept calling out, "Hey, Joe!" and "Surfer Joe!"

"You've got a lot of friends," I said to him. "Do those folks know Lenny?"

He kicked me with his brown heels, whipped me with my hair and said, "I don't know," in a matter-of-face voice.

We were walking past a step-van which had been converted into an ice cream truck. "Bud, I want a popsicle," Joe said.

I dutifully altered our course and proceeded to the vending truck.

When we arrived at the truck I saw that the vendor had a selection of probably twenty-five different varieties of popsicles, ice cream, and snow cones. Didn't matter. Joe had obviously been there before.

"I want a Red Rocket," he informed me.

I obeyed the command and told the man to give me a Red Rocket. He handed me a huge red popsicle shaped like a rocket ship and I handed him a dollar. I took my change and told Joe, "I guess we'd better find a place for you to eat that thing."

"I can eat it up here," he informed me.

I looked doubtfully at the huge red monstrosity and then I decided, what the hell, we were going to take a shower anyway. So I handed Joe the popsicle and off we went toward the school bus where I'd been living for the past few days.

By the time we arrived at the school bus, I was covered in sticky red juice and my hair was plastered to the top of my head. The bus had been converted into a camper. Emblazoned on the side of the bus was "Cub Scout Troop 79, Providence, Rhode Island.

"This is it," I announced to Joe as I lifted him from my shoulders.

A dozen of the bus's residents were outside lounging on lawn furniture and mats thrown down on the sand.

One of the girls laughed, "Damn, Bud, looks like you were attacked by Indians!" as she took in the red syrup which covered me. "Who's your friend?" she asked.

"Francine, this is Joe, a.k.a., 'Coco Joe', 'Surfer Joe', 'Cool Joe', and anything else you want to call him," I said in introduction.

Joe was quickly surrounded by pretty young women. The women were appalled by his sunburned body and made a big fuss over him. One ran into the bus for antibiotic ointment, while another rummaged through her purse in search of zinc oxide.

"You wait here," I instructed Joe as I went into the bus to retrieve towels, soap, and toiletries.

I gathered the things for our shower and took a clean pair of Levis and shirt from my pack. I knew Joe couldn't walk around without a shirt on for a few days, so I dug out a shirt for him, too.

I was just stepping off the bus when I heard one of the girls who was just arriving on the scene say, "Oh, what a pretty little girl!"

Joe was outraged. He snatched his cut-offs down below his knees, grabbed his penis and yelled, "I ain't no girl, see my wiener?"

We all burst out in laughter. No, Joe certainly wasn't a little girl.

I hoisted Joe back onto my shoulders and removed him from his harem of hippie girls. Off we went to the bath house.

When we arrived at the bath house, I lowered Joe to the ground and we found a vacant stall. I turned the water on and carefully adjusted the temperature. Joe had shucked his cut-offs and was prancing around naked.

"Hey, Bud, let's go streaking!" I could tell Joe liked being naked.

"Not now, Joe," I explained to him. "Let me get a few beers in me later and maybe I'll think about it. Right now we've got to get you cleaned up so we can get some medicine on you and make that sunburn feel better."

We stepped into the shower and he let out a shrill cry. The sharp jets of water obviously stung his wounds. Showers weren't designed to accommodate little people, and Joe looked completely miserable standing beneath the deluge. I lifted him up in one arm and began gently soaping his body.

He was a pretty good sport about the whole thing, and even though it hurt him, he allowed me to clean the grime off his brown little body. Once his body was clean, I squirted shampoo on his head and told him to close his eyes.

"OW!" Joe cried. "Fucker, you're making my eyes burn!" he admonished me.

I told him to close his eyes and watch his mouth and continued with the shampoo job. After three applications his hair finally felt clean, so I held him up to the nozzle and rinsed that little sucker down. Then I set him outside the stall and quickly showered and washed my hair.

As I climbed out of the shower and found Joe rifling through my pockets. "Hey, what are you doing?" I demanded.

"Nuthin'," he said in a small voice.

I gently toweled him dry and began putting my shirt on him. It took a lot of adjusting. I had to roll up the sleeves and then tie the shirttail around his waist. He was tickled to death at the shirt. It was made of thin blue denim and he looked pretty sharp with the shirt matching his eyes so perfectly.

I took his filthy shorts to a sink and began washing them with shampoo. When they were clean, I told him to put them on.

"Nope," was all he said.

"Look, Joe, if you don't put these on you're going to get blisters on your wiener," I counseled reasonably.

He put them on.

He rode me back to the bus and all the girls began squealing at the sight of us. I could see that Little Joe wasn't going to be a handicap as far as my love life was concerned.

I took Joe inside the bus and administered zinc oxide to the parts of him that were merely sunburned, and gently applied antibiotic to his wounds. To humor him, I made war paint on his face with the zinc oxide.

When he was completely slathered with white salves I told him, "Ok, partner, now we're going to go find Lenny."

"What for?" he asked.

"Because she's worried about you," I told him. "We don't want her to call the cops or something, do we?"

"She don't care. She ain't gonna call no cops," Joe assured me.

"Well, let's go find her, anyway and if she says you can hang around with me, we can come back here."

I put him on my shoulders and asked, "What does she look like, Joe?"

He mumbled something sounded like "I don't know."

"What color is her hair, Joe?"

"Like mine," he said in a disinterested tone of voice. "Hey, Bud, let's go get a beer," he chirped in a much more interested tone.

"Man, I already told you, you're not old enough to drink beer."

"Lenny lets me," Joe said matter-of-factly.

"Well, I don't!" I told him in a no-doubt-about-it-so-don't-ask-me-again tone of voice.

The heat had abated somewhat as we strolled leisurely through the many campsites. I was searching for a lady with platinum blonde hair, and Joe was just riding.

We hadn't gone far when I heard a female voice call out, "Hey, Joe, are you hungry?"

I looked around and saw a young brunette in a string bikini looking at Joe. She was standing beside a barbecue grill on which burgers sizzled aromatically as she turned them.

I walked over to where the lady was cooking. "Say, do you know this rascal?" I asked her.

"Sure," she replied, "Everyone knows Surfer Joe."

"Well, he seems to have lost his mama and I'll bet she's worried about him. Do you know his mom?"

"Yeah, her name is Lenny," she replied, brushing a strand of dark hair out of her eyes and turning the hamburgers at the same time. "She's staying with a guy named Richard. He lives over by the Sundance Club in one of those trailers."

I signed, because I knew there were close to fifty trailers, some expanded and turned into stucco homes, near the floating bar called the Sundance Club.

"Look," I said, "I don't really want to go knocking on doors, so if you see her would you please tell her Joe is staying with me in that school bus that says "Cub Scout Troop 79" on it?" I pointed to the bus parked in the distance.

"Sure. Hey, that's a far-out bus!" she exclaimed. "I'd noticed it before. It looks like you're taking pretty good care of Surfer Joe. I'm sure Lenny wouldn't mind him staying with you."

I talked with the girl for a while, and expressed my concern for the way Joe had been wandering around. She told me that Joe had many friends and that he got fed half-a-dozen times a day. I told her that there were far too many perverts in the world to let a little guy like Joe roam wherever he wanted to roam."

"You don't look like a pervert to me," she said, looking me up and down.

I laughed. "No, I'm not into mistreating kids. Anyway, I'd sure appreciate it if you'd let Lenny know where Joe is. We'll be here for a few more days."

The girl smiled. "Do I have visitation rights?"

It was my turn to look her up and down. "Damn right, you do," I told her. "We're open twenty-four hours a day, no cover charge, and no minimum purchase required..."

The girl looked up at Joe. "Do you want a hamburger, Joe?"

"Nah," he answered.

The lady ignored his answer. She took some aluminum foil and wrapped two burgers, complete with buns, in the foil." "Joe, I know you, and ten minutes from now you're going to be glad you have this," she said handing me the package.

We thanked the pretty lady and left.


So now it was damn near official; I had permission to keep Joe, at least for the day. I felt much better about the situation as Joe spurred me and we drifted down to the river.

"What do you want to do, Joe?" I asked the little jockey.

"I want to get an Atomic Bomb," was his instant reply.

"What in the hell is an Atomic Bomb?" I asked.

He pulled my hair hard to the right, away from the river. "I'll show you," he said, kicking me in the ribs.

Joe directed me to the ice cream truck, once more. I knew right then what an "Atomic Bomb" was. "Red Rockets" and "Atomic Bombs" sounded an awful lot alike.

I let out an exasperated sigh. "Joe, you just ate, and we have these burgers, too!" I protested.

I set him down on the ground and he crossed his brown arms in front of his chest. "I want a Atomic Bomb," he stated firmly.

"Alright, but I'll tell you one thing, you aren't riding me anywhere until after you eat the popsicle," I told him in my most business-like voice.

I ordered the Atomic Bomb and the man handed me a huge, red, white and blue popsicle. It was shaped like a Christmas tree and it must have weighed half a pound.

Joe reached for the colorful popsicle, but I snatched it back. "Nope. We're going to find a place to sit while you eat that joker."

I picked Joe up again and walked back to the river. I figured that once he'd eaten the damn thing I could just dunk him in the river. It seemed like the best plan I could come up with on such short notice.

I found a place with a good view of the boat launching area, then deposited Joe on the ground once more and sat down beside him. He grabbed the Atomic Bomb, ripped the paper off, and began licking it furiously with his tiny pink tongue. I watched him for several minutes without saying anything. It was fun watching Joe work that popsicle over, oblivious to everything else in the world.

"Where do you and Lenny live?" I asked him.

Joe was busy catching red, white and blue drips which were rapidly running down his hands and wrists. "Phoenix," he replied, never taking his eyes off the Atomic Bomb.

"Does you father live with you?" I interrogated.

"Ain't got one," he said. "Me and Lenny live there."

"Does she work?" I asked.

"Nope, she just dances nekkid," Joe stated casually.

End of interrogation. Subject closed.

When all that remained of the Atomic Bomb was a sticky stick, I told him, "Man, you've got that stuff all over you, Joe."

I looked him over, trying to decide the best way to clean him up. "Tell you what," I said, "take off your clothes and let me rinse you off in the river a little bit."

"Nope," Joe stated.

We argued, and I tried several tactics, all to no avail. Then I was stuck by a bolt of inspiration. "Look, Joe, if you go on and take off your clothes and let me rinse some of that sticky syrup off you, I'll let you go streaking."

Joe's eyes lit up and he shrugged out of the huge blue denim shirt and pulled his shorts off. He protested some when his sunburnt body met the cold Colorado River, but he let me get him halfway clean. I pulled him from the icy water and began swinging him around in circles to get him dry. He liked that a lot and laughter bubbled up from his belly.

When he was reasonably dry, I kept my part of the bargain. "Ok, dude, do your thing," I told him.

Joe looked around. We were surrounded by hundreds of people. I watched as he slowly walked toward a group of people outside a motor home. People were pointing at Joe and smiling. He looked like a young cherub. I let him walk around for a couple of minutes, then I went and retrieved him.

"Man, you aren't streaking," I told him. "All you're doing is walking around naked!"

Joe looked at me and grinned.

"Up you go," I told him as I lifted him over my head and returned to where his clothes were lying on the river bank.

I dressed him and said, "Joe, let's go chase some floozies."

I placed him back on his perch and began trekking through the throng of vacationers.


As we approached the boat ramp, I saw a man standing near the stern of a magnificent metallic black jet boat. Silver letters on the side of the boat announced that the boat's name was "Executioner." Graceful chrome pipes swept out of the engine and ran to a point a foot past the back of the beautiful boat. The man looked up and smiled at Joe riding on my shoulders.

"Hey, mister!" Joe said in his baritone. "How 'bout a ride?"

I started to counsel Joe about being so rude, but before I could reprimand him, the guy said, "Sure, hop in!"

I strolled to where the boat was bobbing just off the bank. The man handed me a small life vest and told me to put it on Joe, if it was alright for him to give Joe a ride. I knew I wasn't Joe's parent, but I also realized that I couldn't possibly deprive my little friend of an opportunity to ride in such a vehicle. I set Joe on the ground and began putting the life vest on him.

"Here," the man said, handing me a larger vest.

I put it on and Joe and I got in that incredible-looking boat.

The man settled himself behind the wheel and turned the ignition switch. The boat exploded to life and then
the engine settled into a throaty growl. The boat rocked from side-to-side as the powerful engine idled.

Our new friend eased the boat away from the boat launch and turned it down the river. He idled along and Joe was obviously impatient with the speed.

"Let's go fast!" Joe said with a gleam in his eyes.

The man chuckled. "Oh, don't worry, when we get up here by the dam and turn around we're going to go real fast. You just be patient."

We idled about three-quarters of a mile until we reached a place just short of the Havasu Dam. Joe was wearing an ear-to-ear grin.

He looked at me and patted my leg. "Hold on, Bud," Joe warned. This apparently wasn't Joe's maiden voyage.

Our pilot turned his craft and sat idling for a few moments. A brilliant yellow "Sidewinder" pulled up beside us and the driver yelled over asking our driver if he wanted to race the Sundance dock.

Our driver looked back at me and Joe and said, "Hold on to him, tight." Then he nodded at the other boat's pilot.

A third boat was lying at anchor off to our right. A man sitting behind its wheel raised a can of compressed air. I suppose this was some universal gesture to boat racers. Our pilot and the driver of the yellow boat both nodded. The man with the can of air raised it high in the air again.

Executioner and the yellow boat both began growling louder. A shrill whistle blast pierced the air above the bedlam of the huge engines. Like a shot, we were off.

The G-force created by the powerful motor pressed me back hard into the upholstered seat, and my eyes turned to slits as we flew above the water. I looked at Joe. His eyes were mere lines, too, and tears were streaming from their corners. Joe's mouth was open wide in unrestrained laughter.

Bow to bow the boats raced upstream toward the Sundance Club. It quickly became quite clear that we were in the better boat. The Executioner began pulling away from the Sidewinder and Joe was going wild. By the time we drew even with the dock attached to the Sundance Club, we were fully twelve to fifteen boat lengths in front of our yellow challenger. Our driver shut down the powerful mill and idled in a wide circle, coming to rest at the club's dock.

Joe had escaped my lap and was rolling on the boat's deck like a little bear. "WE WON!!!!" he announced to the crowd of curious on-onlookers standing on the dock. "D'JU SEE THAT?? WE BEAT 'EM!!" Joe cried victoriously.

I have to admit that at that point in time I felt in danger of losing Joe to the boat owner. Fortunately, a flashy blonde in a pink day-glow bikini climbed into the boat and kissed the driver.

I began removing Joe's vest. "Hey, wha'cha doing?" he demanded.

I explained that it was time for us to go. I told Joe to thank the man for the ride. Joe didn't like it, but he submitted to losing his life vest better than I thought he would.

The man assured Joe he could have another ride some time and that seemed to satisfy my little friend. We thanked the man profusely and climbed onto the dock.

Joe mounted my shoulders again and we began walking off the dock. A gorgeous woman exited the door leading from the bar to the floating dance floor/dock. She had a tan like rich milk chocolate, and it contrasted starkly with her platinum blonde hair. She looked toward us and I saw the azure-blue eyes. No doubt about it, this was Lenny. She was stunningly beautiful.

"Joe-Joe!" she squealed. "I see you have a new friend," she said, looking me in the eye.

She wore pearlescent white polish on her perfectly manicured finger and toenails. Her perfect body was clad in a scanty turquoise blue bikini, and turquoise earrings dangled from her ears. A hammered silver choker adorned with more turquoise ringed her elegant neck, and the entire ensemble perfectly matched her beautiful eyes. This lady was a show-stopper.

"I guess you're Lenny," I said. "My name's Bud, and I've been sort of looking after Joe today."

Her eyes appraised me. Her mouth turned into an approving smile and she said, "Well, it looks like you're taking pretty good care of him."

About that time, a well-tanned man approached us. His hair grew well past his wide shoulders, and he held a tequila sunrise in one hand.

"Richard, this is Bud," Lenny told him.

The guy extended a hand and we shook hands, mumbling, "Pleased to meet you."

He studied me for the briefest of moments. "Can I buy you a drink?" he asked amicably.

"Sure," I said. I pulled some bills from my pocket. "Get Joe a Roy Rogers."

Joe started that old "I want a beer" whine, but Richard walked toward the bar without consulting Joe.

"He was pretty burnt up," I said quietly to Lenny, pointing to Joe, standing at my feet. "I put some antibiotic ointment on him. I don't think any of his blisters are infected," I told the stunning woman.

"When you get tired of him, you just bring him over to that pink stuccoed trailer," she said, pointing toward a house across the road from the bar.

"I don't think I'll get tired of him," I told her, "but, if you need him for anything, we'll be staying at the Redrock Campground. We're living in a school bus that says 'Cub Scout Troop 79, Providence, Rhode Island' on the side."

I had pointed toward the direction the bus was parked, but when I looked back Lenny wasn't looking where I was pointing. She was looking at me. She looked back toward the bar. Richard was coming toward us with the caution of a man walking a tightrope, as he balanced several drinks in his hands.

"Look," she said, glancing toward the returning Richard, "I'll bring some of Joe's clothes to you this evening. Will you be there?"

"Yeah, we'll be here," I told her.

Richard handed me my sunrise and Joe his Roy Rogers. Joe looked totally disgusted by the drink, but he quickly forgot his disappointment and began fishing cherries out of the plastic glass.

We talked as we sipped our cold drinks. Lenny was from Louisiana and had been dancing at various clubs in Phoenix. They were going to go back to Louisiana to visit her parents when they left the river.

We finished our drinks and I looked around for Joe. He was standing over by the rail that ran all the way around the deck. He has his back to me. I heard women squealing and men laughing heartily as I went to retrieve him. When I reached him, I could hardly believe what he was doing. There he was with his little penis in his hand, arcing a long yellow stream over the side and splattering a boat tied to the dock! Fortunately, there was no one in the boat.

"JOE! Man, you ain't got no couth whatsoever!" I told him. It was too late for him to just cut it off, so I let him empty his bladder. I was just a little embarrassed as I lifted him onto my shoulders and left the club.


Anyone who thinks the daylight hours are wild during Easter week on the Colorado River should stick around until the sun falls from the sky each evening. Campfires glow like a million torches all along the shimmering river. Lanterns are lighted, music seems to rise to the occasion, and glistening bodies begin dancing all along the river, throwing eerie shadows all over the ground. It's one big party, and everyone is invited.

Nightfall found Joe and me eating hot-dogs beside a bonfire burning just outside the bus. Some folks off to the side of us had set up four big speakers and music by the Rolling Stones had hundreds of people in the immediate area dancing and cavorting to the addicting beat.

Joe was sitting on the ground tapping both feet, as he stuffed hot-dog in his tiny mouth. Now, Joe was still six months shy of being four years old, but during the course of that afternoon I had discovered that he liked pretty women as much as I did. As I said before, there were more than a million people in the crowd, and at least five-hundred-thousand of them were women. If a man couldn't find romance at Parker, Arizona that week, then he'd be better off to consider joining the priesthood.

A pretty gypsy-looking girl in faded jeans and a halter top was standing twenty feet from us, dancing her own private dance. I nudged Joe. "What do you think about that one?" I asked my little friend.

"Yow!" he said.

I'd taught him the word earlier that evening and he seemed to like it. It's a good word, and it said it all about the gypsy-looking lady.

"Do you like to dance, Joe?" I asked him.

He bit off another chunk of hot-dog. "Yup," he mumbled through his food.

People had begun dancing in a cleared circle between the big speakers. I set my beer down on the ground and told Joe, "Well, I like to dance, too, and I'm going to dance with that pretty gypsy woman."

I arose from the ground and walked over to where she was swaying to the strains of "Honky-tonk Woman."

I tapped her on a bare shoulder. "Want to dance?" I asked.

She just showed me the whitest teeth I'd ever seen and led me to the center of the circle.

The song was made for that lady. She was most definitely a honky-tonk woman, as she whirled and swayed to the heavy beat. She had black eyes and large dangling earrings of silver. She had bangles and baubles on both wrists, and her hands and arms made graceful arcs as she whirled to the throbbing music.

When the music stopped I was breathless. The music hadn't stolen my breath; no, that gypsy lady had done the robbery.

As the last notes wafted in the night air I took her hand and thanked her. We began slowly walking back toward the bus and I told her, "You look like a gypsy."

She laughed. "So do you," she said in a musical lilt of a voice.

Everything about that woman was pretty.

"I'm staying in that bus," I said, pointing toward the old school bus. "Would you like to drink a beer with me?"

"Sure," she said in her melodic voice.

I introduced her to Joe, who'd waited patiently for us to finish our dance, and went to the cooler to get a beer for her. When I returned to where she and Joe were sitting in the sand, I handed the beer to her and sat down. I picked up the beer I'd deposited on the ground when I'd left to dance with the pretty lady. I looked at Joe. Joe wasn't looking at me, but he didn't have to; the faded denim shirt was stained dark all down his chest and stomach.

"Joe, you little creep, you drank my beer!" I scolded him.

"Uh-uh," he lied, but not very convincingly. He burped. The little lush had drank almost an entire beer in the approximately three-and-a-half minutes I'd been gone. All I could do was sigh and go get another beer.

Joe knew how to party. He liked to dance, and he was the cutest dancer I've ever seen. He'd try to snap his fingers while he shuffled his feet to the beat of the music. Occasionally he'd squat down on the ground and bob around for a while. That was his best move, and the women loved it. Between dances he'd steal someone's beer. I tried hard to keep an eye on him, but as the night wore on, he became more adept at sneaking away, or I became less adept at watching him. I'm not sure how he did it, but he was a sneaky little joker and by 9:00 p.m. or so, Joe was all in.

I don't know what time it was that night, but it was very late because the music had stopped and the night was filled with silence. I was lying on a mattress with Little Joe curled up next to me. I'd been sleeping, but someone woke me up.

I lay there in the stillness, listening to the even breathing of Little Joe. Suddenly I heard furtive footsteps padding through the bus. It was pretty dark inside the bus, but I saw a silhouette winding its way through the collection of mattresses and sleeping bags littering the inside of the bus. A shaft of moonlight filtered through a dirty window and I saw white hair. Lenny. Lenny had come to bring me Joe's clothes - or something.

"Back here," I whispered.

The silhouette paused for a second, then moved gracefully to my bed. Lenny sat down on the side of the mattress and set a grocery bag down on the floor beside her.

"I brought Joe some clothes," she said. Her eyes became adjusted to the darkness and she stroked a lock of hair from Joe's forehead, then she bent from the waist and planted a soft kiss on the place she'd removed the hair from. "He looks just like a little angel when he's sleeping," she said softly. "Just look at him, you'd never know what a monster he can be."

"He isn't a monster," I said in defense of my little friend. "He's just a little boy, and boys can be a hand full."

She laid down next to Joe and propped her head on her hand. She was looking at me through the darkness. "You like little kids a lot, don't you?"

I nodded.

"Joe needs a daddy. I know he does. It's good for a man to spend time with him, and I can tell he likes you a lot. You don't mind keeping an eye on him, do you?" Her voice was low, trying not to wake anyone up.

"No, I don't mind at all," I said. "In fact, I'm crazy about Joe. He's about the neatest little boy I've ever met."

She reached over and placed one of her pretty hands on my jaw line and began gently stroking my face. Suddenly, she leaned over and kissed me. It was a long, drawn-out kiss, one that held promise of More To Come.

She called back and said, "I have to get right back now, but I'll come back again."

I didn't say anything. I just looked at her.

She got up from the bed and reached into a pocket on her designer jeans. She pulled out a bill and handed it to me.

"Here, this is to pay for Joe's food," she said. "Let me know when it runs out." She handed me a twenty.

I started to protest, but she told me, "Hey, I know how much Joe eats and, besides, it's free money." When she said that, she laughed mischievously.

I laughed, too. "Yeah, I'll bet you get a lot of 'free money'," I told her.

She got up and turned back into a silhouette, leaving only the fragrance of expensive perfume in the air, and the Promise of More To Come stirring my loins...


I was rudely awakened by a kick in the ribs. My eyes flew open like spring-propelled window shades, just in time to prepare my body for Joe's weight as he flung himself onto my chest!

"Damn, man, if that's the best you can do to wake me up, I'm trading you in for a rooster!" I told my tormentor.

"Get up, Bud!" Joe demanded, pummeling me with his little fists.

I grabbed him by the shoulders and rolled over on top of him. Then, taking both of his wrists in one hand and raising his arms over his head, I began paying him back for the violent awakening. I tickled his ribs and pinched his nose. He squealed, threatened, and finally, begged me to let him up. I made him swear to be good for the rest of his life, then I let him up.

Joe kept his promise for approximately five seconds, then he aimed a kick at my shins and called me a "fucker". That's when I picked him up and body-slammed him on the mattress. Then, savoring my hard-won victory, I collected our toiletries and began rummaging through the sack of clothes the silhouette had delivered in the night. I picked out a clean pair of shorts and a little tank top.

"Let's go get cleaned up, Joe, and then we'll find something to eat," I told the little guy.

"Yeah, I want a Red Rocket!" Joe cried.

"Well, you're not getting a Red Rocket, OR an Atomic Bomb. We’re going to see if we can't find something healthy to eat. You don't want to stay 2-1/2 feet tall all your life, do you?" I could see he was impressed by the prospect of never growing, so he came with me peacefully.

I'm not real sure what Joe had against baths, but I do know that each shower session became a battle of wills; his will was equal to mine, but I outweighed him by close to 150 pounds, so he lost each battle waged during the War of the Showers.

This particular morning Joe dutifully stripped off his old cut-offs and stayed under the spray for a few moments without much protest. But when I dried his muscular little body and put some clean shorts on him, he thought he was finished with the ordeal. He wasn't.

The day before, I'd allowed him to skip brushing his teeth because he didn't have a toothbrush. The bag of clothes left by Lenny hadn't contained a toothbrush, either and I'd already made a mental note to get Joe a toothbrush. But, that was "future tense", and this was "present tense" and Joe needed to brush his teeth. I washed my toothbrush thoroughly, covered it with toothpaste, and handed it to Joe. That is, I tried to hand it to Joe. Joe wasn't going for it.

"I don't need to brush my teeth," he protested.

"Joe, you have to brush your teeth or they'll get rotten and fall out," I explained to him in a reasonable voice.

Joe just clamped his mouth tight, then turned and tried to make it to the door. I was too quick for him. I grabbed Joe by the arm, and Joe let out the damnedest scream I've ever heard. We weren't alone in the bath house and a number of patrons turned and looked at me sharply.

I grinned and mumbled something about, "kids sure can be difficult when it's time to brush their teeth."

Baleful gazes met my apologetic eyes.

I gritted my teeth and leaned down close to Joe's ear, "Joe, if you create a scene I'm not giving you a ride anywhere today, and you won't get a popsicle, either."

Joe looked at me defiantly. "Fucker!" he said in an angry voice. He knew he had to brush his teeth, now but he didn't have to like it - and he didn't.

Joe brushed his gritted teeth with his jaws clenched tightly in anger. He kept squinting his eyes at me, shooting darts of rage and indignation at me. When he finished I quickly brushed my own teeth and we went back to the bus.


Later that afternoon I was riding Joe around on my shoulders when I saw Lenny and Richard standing with several other people, sharing a joint. I walked over to where they were standing.

"How are you folks doing?" I asked.

Lenny took a deep drag on the joint and passed it toward me. Like a vulture, Little Joe leaned down from his perch and tried to intercept the joint. I was quicker than he was.

"Man, what are you doing?" I demanded.

"Gimme a toke!" Joe implored.

I told him that he didn't need any, and he wasn't getting any. I took a toke and handed it to Richard. Richard reversed the joint and stuck the lit end inside his mouth. The girl I didn't know leaned closer to him and he blew a "shotgun", a jet of marijuana smoke, out the end of the joint as she inhaled the stream of smoke through her nose. She took the joint, blew a "shotgun" for Richard to inhale and then handed the joint to Lenny.

When Lenny had taken another toke, she said, "Here, Coco-Joe," and handed it to my little passenger.

I wasn't amused by the antic. "I know you're his mother, but little kids don't need anything like that. His little lungs are pink and healthy, and they should be allowed to stay that way," I told Lenny quietly.

She waved away my words with her braceleted hand. "Oh, I only give him one or two tokes. It doesn't hurt him."

I was glad when the joint was gone. We stood there, idly talking, and Richard said, "Hey, we found this little trickle of water coming beneath the road and flowing into the river. It has to come from somewhere up in the hills. I followed it for half-a-mile or so and it gets wider the farther you go. Why don't we all get together tomorrow and see if we can't find its source? Maybe there'll be a good place to swim.

Everyone agreed that it sounded like a good outing. We set a nine o'clock time of departure and agreed to meet at Richard's place.


The next morning Joe and I got up early. I didn't make him take a shower because I knew we were going swimming. I'd bought him a pair of shower shoes the day before, and he was bouncing up and down in them impatiently as I got ready for our trip. We brushed our teeth and headed for the store.

I bought a twelve-pack of Busch, a six-pack of soft drinks for Joe, and a little straw hat to protect him from the merciless desert sun.

When we arrived at Richard's, I was pleasantly surprised to see another guy and two other women already there. We put all the beer and Cokes into a Coleman cooler and placed it in the new guy's van, along with a picnic basket which one of the girls had prepared. We climbed into the hot van and eased down the dirt driveway until we reached the black-topped road that wound its way between the river and the mountains.

Joe and I sat in the back with the women while Richard and the new guy, Tom, sat up front. Joe was really excited and showed it by crawling from one window to the next, searching for our destination. He looked cute in his new hat. Sort of like an albino-haired bracero.

We drove a few miles and Tom pulled the van to the side of the road, and we all tumbled out.

He had parked beside a culvert pipe. The pipe ran beneath the road, and water trickled from the hills into the Colorado River. I looked upstream, if you could call it a stream. The tiny rivulet was coming from a sort of valley between two large hills. We quickly relegated responsibility as to who carried what. I volunteered to carry the heavy ice chest. Joe volunteered me to carry him, too.

I don't know whose idea it was; it certainly wasn't my idea, but someone suggested that we all take off our clothes. I think Tom wanted to see Lenny naked, or something. But, whatever, much to Joe's delight, we shucked our clothes, put them in the picnic basket, and off we went into the dusty brown hills.

We'd walked for about an hour when someone began complaining. The rivulet had turned into a creek, but certainly nothing spectacular. There was some discussion about terminating the adventure and drinking the beer. The ice chest was feeling heavier with each step, even though we'd already drunk several of the beers.

But Richard said "No, this water is coming from some place and when we get there we'll be glad we made it."

Issue settled. We trudged forward...

After another hour or so our party began seriously bickering. Looked like mutiny, to me. The number of folks wanting to go back was equal to the number who wanted to go forward. I decided the issue this time.

"Hey, you guys," I said, "you folks sit here for a while and let me run up ahead and see if this is going to be worth the trouble we're going though.

Everyone agreed to let me be the scout. Joe insisted on going with me.

"Joooeee," I pleaded, to no avail.

We'd gone less than a mile when I rounded a large rock, and there it was. A waterfall spilled out of a cave high up in the rocks, cascading down into a pool about 50 feet wide. The pool was as clear as expensive crystal, and it was surrounded by gigantic rocks, majestically guarding this Eden. The cave where the waterfall was born looked like a cornucopia, with ferns and desert flowers spilling out of its dark mouth. It was one of the grandest places I've ever seen.

We hurried back to our friends, with me conspiring with Joe to keep his trap shut about what it looked like until they could see for themselves. He crossed his heart and hoped to die.

We got back to our friends and I said, "It's less than a mile up the way, and its worth every step of it, too."

Joe piped, "Yeah, there's mountains and a waterfall and a swimming pool and everything!"

God must not pay a lot of attention to kids who cross their hearts and hope to die, because Joe went right on living. Anyone who didn't believe that little rascal was alive had only to look at his beaming face and shining eyes.

There was renewed energy in everyone's stop as we picked up our things and completed the pilgrimage.
When we rounded the big rock and the scene came into view, a collective gasp escaped the lips of our party. There was even a little beach area where everyone could lounge in the sun.

As one we jumped into the pool. It was cold, but it felt good. It wasn't pristine, however; others had been there before us and some had left their beer cans and bottles on the bottom of the pool. I made a silent promise to retrieve then before we left.

We drank beer and smoked Colombian marijuana while the women prepared the lunch. I put my cut-offs on and made Joe get dressed, too. A man couldn't stand too much sun on some areas of his body.

After we'd eaten egg salad and chips, I told the group, “I’m going to climb those rocks and see if I can get inside that cave."

I could see by the looks in their eyes that they didn't believe I could make it to the top of those rocks. They were nearly 100 feet high, and the front of the rocks were sheer walls of granite and limestone. Joe begged to go, too but I was firm with my refusal. I promised him that if I found an easy way, I'd come back for him.

I went around to the back of the rocks and saw what I thought was an accessible route to the top of the rocks. I had on a pair of Mexican hurache sandals. I began my slow ascent up the nearly-invisible path, making slow progress. I have to admit, I very nearly didn't make it. More than once I felt myself sliding backwards down the sleep rock.

After thirty minutes of rigorous climbing, I came to an overhanging ledge. I grabbed it and hoisted my body to the top. I'd made it.

I walked across the peak of the rock and found myself standing somewhere between seventy-five and one-hundred feet above the pool. The cave was coming from a rock just off to my right and it was apparent that I couldn't possibly reach it from the rock I was standing on.

"Hey, Joe!" I shouted. "I made it!"

Joe looked like a doll jumping up and down on the tiny beach far below. I walked over to the edge of the rock and feinted as to jump from the rock.

"ARE YOU GOING TO JUMP, BUD? ARE YOU GOING TO JUMP?" Joe yelled excitedly.

I grinned at him. "Yep, Joe, I'm going to jump!"

I bluffed again. There was no way I was going to jump off that damn rock.

"JUMP, BUD, JUMP!" Joe implored.

I laughed and acted like I was going to jump again. Suddenly I felt my body leaning toward the pool; leaning far too much to regain my footing on the rock again. Before I realized what was happening, I found myself in midair. Had I jumped on purpose, I'd have dove into the water head-first, but I hadn't planned this dive, and I was on my way to Earth, feet-first.

I remember saying to myself, "Well, you asshole, you've done it now. You'd better get your shit together in a real hurry, because Earth will be here shortly."

I windmilled my arms to keep from landing on my face or back. It seemed like an eternity before I hit the water, but when I did hit it, mercifully, I landed perfectly straight up and down. My feet hit first, and it felt like I had landed in concrete. Next, my arms slapped the water hard, sending a gigantic gout of water high into the air. I went all the way to the bottom, then pushed off and swam for the sky above me.

When my head popped up out of the water, the first thing I saw was Joe rolling on the ground like a hysterical little bear. He was holding his sides as he laughed, and he kept saying, "You did it! You did it, Bud!"

Whew!


I could tell that Lenny went through men the way Imelda Marcos goes through shoes. Use them, then toss them away. I won't say she never gave me the opportunity to taste her treasures, because that wouldn't be true. I wrestled with my conscious over whether or not to try to insinuate myself into Lenny's life in return for the opportunity to share Joe's life. Reality told me that wouldn't be possible. Besides, I was on my way to Alabama and a pregnant lady. My pregnant lady. So I made it a point not to form any relationship with Lenny that went beyond being friendly and polite.

Joe had been exposed to many men in his young life. I'm certain he received a lot of attention, even if some of it wasn't necessarily genuine in nature. My relationship with Joe became something special. Time had taught me that all things must pass, and I knew This Time, too, would pass. I treated every moment like the precious jewel it was.

Even before I'd dived (fallen) from the rock, my relationship with Joe went far beyond casual friendship. Once I'd done my thing off that rock, well I was Joe's hero. No doubt about it.


The next day was Easter Sunday. Joe kicked me out of bed early and announced that he wanted something to eat. We brushed our teeth and I told him, "Joe, we've been eating too much junk. Let's see if we can't find a ride to a restaurant, and pig-out on a real breakfast."

"Yeah, let's go eat pancakes!" Joe seconded.

We walked out of the bus and immediately ran into the gypsy-looking girl. Anna was her name. She was from Santa Ana, California and had come to the river with a girlfriend.

"Good morning, gypsy woman," I said to her. "Look, Joe has been eating too many burgers and hot-dogs. I thought it would be nice to find a restaurant and fatten him up with some real food. If you and your girlfriend will be good enough to give us a ride, I'll be glad to buy both of you breakfast."

She gave me that lighthearted smile of hers and said she'd go ask her friend.

Soon she came back with a blonde-haired girl. "This is Angie," she said. "Bud, Angie; Joe, Angy," We exchanged greetings and got into a late-model Volkswagen bug.

Both girls were wearing cut-offs, sandals and bikini tops. Both were outrageously beautiful, and Lord knows, both were built.

We were riding down the road and Joe was standing in the back seat leaning over the front seat. Anna was riding in the passenger seat.

"Joe," she said, "you're about the cutest little guy I think I've ever seen. Can I have a kiss?"

Joe leaned way over and kissed her dead on the mouth. It wasn't one of those "pecks", either. No, this was a drawn-out affair.

When she pulled away, Joe looked at her breasts. "She's got nice boobs," he informed me.

I think I'd already noticed that. Anna blushed and started laughing.

"Can I touch you?" Joe asked innocently.

"Jooooe," she said. "Oh, ok, you can touch me."

She apparently thought ol' Joe was going to quickly touch her and that would be the end of it. Not Little Joe. Nope, Joe didn't touch quickly any more than he pecked when he kissed. He reached over and stroked the top of her left breast gently. She turned crimson and knocked his little paw away.

The whole thing was too much for me. I grabbed Joe and wrestled him back as I shook with uncontrollable laughter.

When we arrived at a restaurant in Parker, the place was already filled past capacity. We found a parking space and took our place in the lobby area. We gave our name to the hostess and told her how many people we had in our party, then we waited. We waited nearly an hour for a booth.

Finally, the hostess approached us with menus in her elegant hand, and showed us to a booth. Joe was way too little in the booth and reach the table, so she brought a highchair for him. Joe didn't like that. No, I thought me and Joe were going to fight before he finally agreed to sit in the highchair. He was fairly humiliated by the whole thing and looked rather sullen.

We ordered ham, eggs, hashbrowns, and a side order of pancakes for my piggish little friend. The food arrived and Joe ate every single bite on his plate. All of it. Right before he'd finished sopping up the last of his strawberry syrup with the final piece of pancake, Joe spotted a person in the next booth who had a plate of golden french toast in front of him. It was smothered in confectionery sugar.

"Bud, can I have some french toast?' Joe begged.

"Damn, Joe, are you sure you can eat it?" I asked doubtfully.

"Sure, I can eat it!" he answered in an indignant voice.

I summoned our waitress and ordered the french toast, while the girls and I drank some more coffee.

Twenty minutes passed. No french toast. Joe was looking around impatiently. Suddenly he pointed. "There's my damn french toast!" he exclaimed.

I looked, and sure enough, one order of french toast was circling endlessly on a carousel beneath heat lamps.

"She'll bring it in a minute, Joe," I assured him.

Ten more minutes passed. No toast.

"I want down," Joe stated. I told him to be patient. "I WANT DOWN!" Joe demanded.

Now, I knew Joe well enough to know that the best thing to do at this point was to let him out of that highchair, so I did.

He hit the floor and made a beeline for the opening between the counters. There had to be five or six waitresses, but Joe went to the right one. He tugged her skirt. The waitress looked down at the adorable little human being pulling on her skirt. She knelt before him with affection in her eyes.

"What do you want, Sugar?" she cooed sweetly to him.

"I WANT MY FUCKING FRENCH TOAST!" Joe roared in his deep voice.

Everyone in the place heard him. The sounds of people eating were replaced with the sound of laughter. The lady turned white, then she turned red. She recovered quickly, removed Joe's french toast from the carousel, and carried it to the highchair.

Like I said, all things must pass. Sad, but true. I worked for two weeks with Richard. We wired some remodeled houses and trailers in the area for a German businessman. I'm no electrician, but I can pull soaped-up wire through conduit in hot, itchy attics. That's what I did by day, and by night I basked in the warmth of Joe's friendship. Any carousing I did was strictly after Joe was sleeping.

Each morning when the sun rose in the hills guarding that desert haven, I would awaken beside Joe. Sometimes I woke up first, and I'd lie quietly studying his innocent face. I'd stroke his arms and shoulders softly and kiss him gently on his forehead. Somewhere between Easter and The End, I'd fallen deeply in love with Little Joe from Kokomo.

Lenny owned a shiny red Camaro, compliments of some sugar daddy from the Phoenix area. She also had the man's credit cards.

After I worked with Richard for the two weeks, he decided to go to Louisiana and meet Lenny's folks. They were talking about getting married during the day, and Lenny was trying to sneak into the bed with me at night. I wasn't going to be the one to rain on the parade, though so I remained silent. My silence permitted me to remain with Joe for a while longer. It was decided that I'd come with them as far as Baton Rouge.

We took two days getting to Baton Rouge, and I tried to prepare Joe for The End. He really didn't care to discuss it. He told me I wasn't going anywhere, and apparently that was the end of the conversation as far as Joe was concerned.

We spent the night in a motel in Baton Rouge when we arrived in Louisiana. I left Lenny and Richard in the motel room while I took Joe to a movie. We went to see "Ol' Yeller" at some rundown theater in the bad part of town.

Joe wasn't nearly the wise guy he'd been when I first met him. He rode me most of the time when we went anywhere, and when he wasn't riding he held my hand tightly. He'd told me all about his grandfather who was a preacher. I can just imagine what his grandfather must have thought about Little Joe from Kokomo when he arrived at his grandparents' home.

I talked to Lenny, too trying to find out where they were going so I could see Joe again Some Day. She was vague and told me there were warrants out for her arrest for writing hot checks and that they wouldn't be in Louisiana but a short while.

I'd like to say it was a mutually tender moment when I got out of the red Camaro for the last time, but that wouldn't be true. Maybe I was lucky; Joe didn't cry tears of sadness. No, Joe was furious with me for abandoning him. He wouldn't even kiss me "good-bye," but I hugged him anyway and kissed him on his platinum head. Then I got out at the bus depot and watched a red blur drive away with a tiny white head bobbing up at the back window.

I've spent years rearranging my emotions. Seems like each time I get them arranged properly, Life will scatter them again. So I rode a bus to Montgomery and Joe rode off into Uncertainty. But every time I see a young man with white hair, I look closely. When I see him again, I'll know him; it doesn't matter if he's forty years old. And when I see him, I'm going to hug him. Then we'll talk about Red Rockets and big rocks...

FACTOR 8: THE ARKANSAS PRISON BLOOD SCANDAL

Kelly Duda and Concrete Films have produced a documentary which details the corruption and greed that led the Arkansas Department of Correction to spread death from Arkansas prisons to the entire world. Hear the story from the mouths of those responsible for the harvesting of infected human blood plasma, and its sale to be made into medicines.

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along with the urls to the linked pages.