The Biggest, The Baddest, The Best

No, this is not a story about Texas. Or Alaska. Or about any ten-foot dude who can out-work, out-cuss, out-drink everyone. In fact, it's about a fairly common fellow named Norman who never did a thing noteworthy until the day he leaned on the Connect Button and blew up a hundred million-dollar space program at Cape Kennedy.

But don't misunderstand: Norman was not a wimp, hen-pecked, or even a clutz. The truth is that's why I'm telling you his story: To show you that he was just like you and me but just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time and did the wrong thing. Here's what happened.

Norman Dickering worked in a hardware store in the little town of Athena, Ohio. The town was off the beaten track so the store, Thompson's General, served mostly the farming community and small-town residents. Athena was so small that it didn't have a Walmart or Target, Hi-Vee or Easter's, or Wendy's, McDonald's, or Burger King, or for that matter, a Pizza Hut, Dominoes, or Caesar's. Athena was so small that it didn't have a single national franchise-anything. So how did an assistant clerk at a very small town hardware store even get in the Control Room at the Space Center?

Norman won a trip. He signed a registration form he found on the counter, folded it, dropped it in the slot in the cardboard box, and six

weeks later was informed that he'd won. Some Athenians called it pure, dumb luck, others an act of God. To whatever you may wish to ascribe the winning, Norman Mackeroy Dickering flew to Cape Kennedy and stood humbly in the front row of the space-shuttle Control Center tour.

The rest is, indeed, history, though no one outside the Center ever knew the truth. They were sworn to secrecy, then received a healthy annuity for the rest of their lives if they kept quiet. No, NASA and the federal government couldn't let such a bungling booboo become public knowledge. You see, the guide tour, a highly reliable, respected, rule-following, US Army officer, Lieutenant Colonel Hercules Bennington DuPont, did something he never did before and believe me, will never do again. He poked one of the two red buttons that had to be touched simultaneously in order to detonate the space ship in case it got into trouble. We all know who was standing next to the second button and, robot-like, copied the unbelieving colonel.

The CIA, FBI, NASA, Secretary of Defense, and the President all said the same thing: The cause was a malfunction in the ignition system and is being corrected as you hear these words. But haven't we learned that when that many high officials make the same statement, something's sure to be amiss? Naturally, Hercules Bennington DuPont was exiled to the American Siberia, Alaska, and never heard of again either at promotion boards or news releases. Norman Dickering, on the other hand, was heard of again and again. Before, that is, he returned to Thompson's General Store and sold nuts, bolts, and screws for the rest of his life.

But during those thirty-five years, everyone in off-the-track Athena, saw a change. Norman seemed to smile more than before the contest. He called in sick one day a month when everyone knew he wasn't infirm and he even spent his two-week vacation outside of Jasper Country, only the

second time he'd been past the line.

Naturally, Mr. Dickering never told a soul what happened at Kennedy, so the Buckeyes naturally ascribed his obvious self-confidence to the drawing and trip. It reminded the old folks of the First World War song that was on the tip of the tongue of every Athenian-Jasperite: How you gonna keep em down on the farm after they've been to gay Paree? Cape Kennedy, they reasoned, was such a big place, with such sophisticated, high-tech instruments, and all those uniformed people, they must have had a metamorphosing effect on their grass-roots hero.

The irony of Norman's fete came when the Mayor and Elders erected a statue of their home-grown son in the center of the Jasper County Court House Square. The plaque read:

"Our Adventurous, Native-Born Son,

Humanitarian and World-Traveler,

NORMAN MACKEROY DICKERING

for contributing so much to his

People from every hamlet and village, Platt and township, pilgrimaged to the county seat to see the plaque and hope to get a glimpse of the hero. All agreed that the unveiling of the monument marked an exciting time in the history of this small, Unincorported berg nestled in the off-track, rolling hills of southern Ohio.

Everything was so typically small-town American that when Norman's picture was posted on the lampposts of Athena and he rode in the VIP car at the 4th of July parade, no one was surprised. In fact, they would have sensed that something strange was happening if he hadn't been so

eulogized. But what did attract their attention was the news through the United States State Department that Athena's own, Norman Mackeroy Dickering, had been chosen among the celebrated American heroes, to represent the country on a world tour called, "This is America." Joining Norman in the entourage were Miss America, the Heavyweight Boxing Champion of the World, MVP's of football's Super Bowl and baseball's World Series, and assorted Nobel Laureates and Olympic Hall-of-Famers. It was in this august company that Athena's local hero crossed the Jasper County line for the third time.

At first the press releases were safe. They revealed only that the midwestern store clerk was a friend of humanity and the local man-of-the-year. But the foreign press assumed that because Norman was among such world-renowned peers, they must promote him as America's Man-Of-The-Year, strongly suggesting that he be made International Man-Of-The-Year and be nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize. By the time the Buckeye returned to "Lil ole Athena" he was decorated by more Kings, Queens, Presidents, Premiers, Academies, Universities, and polls than any other person in the Western Hemisphere.

Back in Athena, county seat of Jasper County, everyone poured into the General Store and congratulated Norman. The Mayor bought him an ice-cream cone, the Governor bought him a pizza, and the residents, many of whom had gone to grammar school with him in the little red school house chipped in and gave him a bowling ball and let him roll the first ball at township league night. All were happy he was back and rumors flew about giving him a life-time pension so he would only have to work part-time at Thompson's General.

Now, Norman kept his composure during the tour and all the accolades. He only broke down once, when Mabel Swippool held her one

year-old daughter, Jasmine-Mae, to be kissed by the hero and heard the mother say, "Remember this day, Ja-Mae, for the rest of your life," and the girl's father took a picture with his Brownie Box camera. Other than that, Norman was the Grand Man, standing as tall as any King, Queen, President, Premier, or World Champion. And to think that he owed it all to Hercules Bennington DuPont, U.S. Army Lieutenant Colonel, for carelessly poking the red button that led to the destruction of the space ship at Kennedy Center.

Only in America.