Pillar of salt extending over Commercial street

Last month, a work crew digging up the old storm sewers on Commercial Street uncovered a pillar of salt, about the size and shape of an adult human female.

The contractor contacted the city and concerned C-Street business owners. If this turned out to be some kind of a bog person, it would have to be properly buried, or perhaps placed in a decent museum. One business owner said, “I can vaguely remember hearing a story when I was a kid about a lady who was turned to salt, but I can’t remember where I heard it, or how it happened.”  Others agreed. They wanted to learn more about it.

They decided to call in a team of forensic scientists.  But due to the sequester in Washington there were no federal grants available, and the only scientists they could afford were all-but-the-dissertation cultural anthropologists. These men and women had sat through enough seminars and had read enough academic material to cure an insomniac, but none of them had completed a dissertation to earn a PHD yet. And none of them would admit to ever hearing a story about a woman becoming salt, so they were eager to study this salt pillar to complete their academic credentials.

They searched the archives of the local newspapers and magazines and couldn’t find any reference to it.  There were no known stories among the native tribes who once lived here, or among those who passed through here on the Trail of Tears.  They went through Vance Randolph’s books and papers on Ozarks folklore without finding salt pillars. The classics professors at the local universities were puzzled. Lots of ancient Greeks were turned into interesting things but not salt. One professor said, “read Ovid sometime. It’s lots of fun when you’re not worried about getting a grade.”

And there were no salt marshes around here. Even the Boone family had to travel 175 miles north of here to get salt. But the enterprising Boones wouldn’t have hauled back a bog lady from that distance without mentioning it to somebody.

Finally, an old fellow sitting under the old Jefferson Avenue foot bridge spoke up. “I’ve heard some good stories around here. Back in the day, this street was bustling with gas stations, saloons, railroad crews, cattle buyers, and ladies who entertained those gentlemen from out of town, if you know what I mean. When prohibition came, the street took it real hard. Then later, things got worse when the railroad switched from steam to diesel, and even moved most of their yard activity two miles west. So one story goes that one of the last ladies who entertained around here looked back as she was leaving, and was turned into salt. But I have observed events on this street for many years, and I can tell you where your pillar of salt really came from.  It was left over from the street clearing effort after the great ice storm of ought seven. They pushed a big pile of ice up Boonville until they got to Commercial Street and combined it with the ice here. I’ve never seen the city use so much salt for one Winter storm.”

Another old timer spoke up. “You fellows need to go back to school. I know how hard things are for you scholarly types in a bad economy, but you can’t build an academic career on salt pillars. Sometimes a pillar of salt is just salt.”

Underground mole man

Springfield, MO – Hordes of people have flocked to the ancient tornado protection grounds known commercially as Fantastic Caverns. Citizens and local government have relocated temporarily to avoid dangerous storms and will remain submerged until the storm season passes in October.

“I’ve heard of entire mobile homes driven into the caves, there is an entire city down there complete with a caste system. My uncle is a mechanic above ground, but under the earth he is a warlord,” said 14-year-old, Newton Figgerja of Nixa, MO.

More recently, a new community of survivalists have taken up residency at the Springfield Underground and include finance, banking and news gathering professionals in the Ozarks. “We have to remain resilient during the straight line wind months and both together as a community. Except for the Fantastic Cavern hold-outs, they can suck a stalagmite for all I care,” claimed Maggie Fenstermatch, 48 of Springfield, MO.

The great divide between Fantastic Caverns and Springfield Underground communes began in 1989 when a vital truckload of survival supplies was captured and rerouted to the north side caverns. “They took our Twinkies and VHS copies of Rambo. We had to eat bat guano for weeks,” said Fenstermatch.

“I am so excited that we’ll have a chance to relax in the terminal while doing yoga,” said Nancy Hitroth, a frequent flier on American Airlines. According to officials, airport yoga is being offered as an incentive to passengers, especially those on extended layovers.

Carl Thereloss, a spokesman for the Deptarment of Aviation said, “We’re happy to test airYoga in the Ozarks. Should this test prove successful we are looking at implementing the practice at several more terminals across the country. We’ll begin with pre-recorded televised instructors in designated areas of the Springfield-Branson National Airport, then slowly add kiosks and vendors to support the needs of those wishing to participate.”

SGF Airport projects a huge increase on multiple fronts: customer satisfaction and cash flow. “People are going to love this…who doesn’t want to begin their flight in a Zen state or unwind from a crowded regional jet jaunt with a little downward dog? Plus the airport will generate income on the sale of ancillary items including yoga pants, mats and eventually memberships to private hot yoga classes.”

During high-traffic times, passengers are encouraged to find a corner of the airport that they are comfortable with begin their own yoga sessions with others until an open television viewing space is available.

Daughter practices mom-seat-belt on her mother

Springfield, MO – In a touching show of motherly support, thousands of people aged 2 to 92 extended their right arm across the person’s chest to the right of them, thereby forming the largest mom-seat-belt chain in the world. The mom-seat-belt stretched nearly 19 miles and ran from downtown Springfield to the square in Ozark, MO.

“I was so honored to take part in this celebration with my mother – a woman who has attempted to save my life with her forearm several times over the years while she was driving,” said Abica Keller, 47 of Nixa, Missouri, “If it hadn’t been for her arm when I was a child, I’m not sure I’d be here today.”

The mom-seat-belt was first officially recognized in the Ozarks during the spring of 1972 when Patricia Gowers forcefully applied her brakes at the intersection of National and Battlefield, sending her two young children hurtling towards the dash of her two-tone 1971 gran torino. “Back then, there were no laws stipulating where a child could sit or if we should even be using seat belts. At the time I just remember saying to myself I’ve got to stop these kids from face-planting,” recalled Gowers, now a grandmother to 5 young passengers.

Doctor Felix Hendrixson estimates that the mom-seat-belt has saved the lives of at least 4 people over the history of automobile usage and prevented many minor bumps and scrapes. “Usually, the maneuver is perfectly worthless and creates more tension to the elbow of the person attempting to provide protection. I’ve seen numerous cases of mothers who have hyper-extended their right elbow so many times that they lose any reflexive ability developing what we call mom-seat-belt elbow,” said Hendrixson.

While the debate continues over the protective properties of the mom-seat-belt, there is no denying that thousands of people respect and remember the maneuver fondly and took great joy today participating in the event to honor moms across the Ozarks.

Squawk-squawk-squawk!

Springfield, MO – A disaster of Biblical proportions filled the streets of downtown Springfield, as a street preacher was subjected to the anger of the urban loft dwellers.

The loft dwellers are accustomed to the usual weekend street noises of loud music, traffic, and occasional fisticuffs between night club customers. But a man with a bullhorn will startle them and cause them to swarm into the streets. And if he thumps a Bible more than once, they will really get mean. Veteran police officers nearing retirement say they would rather intervene in a domestic disturbance than get between these great hordes and a street preacher. The most they can do is write tickets to the preacher, and explain to him that his constitutional rights end where the mob begins.

One experienced pub crawler thought at first he had returned to an earlier life when he was an officer in Pharaoh’s army down in Egypt land, because this is exactly what the plague of locusts looked like. However his companion said that was just the locally brewed beer talking.

A lawyer representing the preacher said, “Can’t we all get along. This man is churchless. We need to have the same compassion for him that we have for the homeless.” But the lawyer forgot. There is no history of compassion in downtown Springfield. If the people want to hear a preacher yelling at them, they’ll just have to seek out a church, or synagogue, or mosque of their choice, preferably somewhere else.

A city council member said, “If we allow one street preacher here, we will attract other preachers until the whole downtown area is crowded with them.”  One Springfield lawyer said, “Judging by my hourly rate, I can’t see how a churchless preacher can afford his own lawyer. But I digress.”