The Great Incog

The Great Incog

Percy Fillmore was so asocial that he spent every cent of the hundred thousand dollar lottery on a tug boat just so he wouldn't have to be around people. He preferred a boat on the water to the basement apartment inundated by it.

Percy was five foot six, weighed one hundred eighteen pounds, was blond, shy, and blushed. While he looked fragile, on the inside he was like everyone else whose testosterone outweighs his estrogen. He even possessed a strong though incongruous bass-baritone voice. He had all the dreams of defeating weapon-superior enemies and ascending unclimeable mountains, he just didn't look the part.

OnHerculeshe lived the way he wanted never dreading others. He towed becalmed sailboats to port, guided ships to the channel, even saved the wayward kayaksman who ventured too far offshore and couldn't maneuver against the strong current.Herculesand Percy became common sights off Florida's Gulf-side coast.

One evening, after hearing a man loudly rev his three-quarter ton, four-wheeler with no muffler, he picked up his guitar and strummed away. Since he was docked at the end of the wharf far from the harbor lights he felt undetectable. He improvised unashamedly.

Rig Drive'n Man

Eighteen wheeler 'n all full a' spit,

Don't mess with Daddy 'cause he's one mean fit.

Slip the clutch 'n grind them gears, babe,

'Here comes Daddy without da fears, babe!

He's a Rig Drive'n Man! Rig Drive'n, Rig Drive'n, Drive'n Man!

Truck stops 'n motels that's where he lives,

'N not behind the wheel of his rig that gives

Full throttle, full power, watch them brakes,

'Cause last thing Daddy is -- a wimp-faced fake!

He's a Rig Drive'n Man! Rig Drive'n, Rig Drive'n, Rig Drive'n Man!

C-B, G-P-S, 'n all them gadgets

Don't mean diddly squat to all them Bridgets

'Cause all they want is same as you 'n me --

A big Daddy that gives them a ride full of WHEE!

He's a Rig Drive'n Man! Rig Drive'n, Rig Drive'n, Rig Drive'n Man!

Percy sang it the next night, adjusting as he strummed. And the next night he worked out more kinks. In time it was smooth as well as melodious. And, of course, he strummed and sang only at night when no one walked the wharf.

One night the Harbor Master, making his rounds, yelled, "Hey, mister, you should record that. It's a doozey."

Percy jumped. Had he known anyone was listening he wouldn't have strummed his guitar let along sung out loud. But since it was dark he ventured, "Yeah? How come?"

"Cause it's gotballs.I say, go public and let it all hang out!"

Percy chuckled.I'd never do that. On the other hand, if I could record and submit it without being detected, why not?So he put the piece to paper.

The next rainy day when the boats snuggled the docks and he doubted anyone would need his help, Percy went downtown, guitar in hand. He recorded the song at a do-it-yourself studio in the back room of a run-down music shop. And, as if by a miracle, it was picked up on its first submission and played on the radio. It hit Nashville like a hurricane. The best stars wanted it as their own. Royalties he'd only dreamed about poured into his bank account. In time, the sales they were so great that he bought a bigger tug and painted on the stern big and bold,Rig Driver. "The miracle of show biz," said Percy as he sat in the cockpit of his new boat. "Like, only in America!"

Percy's story takes a predictable turn here. When the song gets high on the charts, people start looking for The Man. Agents, interviewers, Nashville producers, promoters of all kinds. Everyone smells money and

they want part of the action. But they can't find the star. Percy had protected himself.

He started by blotting outDrive'n Manand paintedHercules 11on the stern. He figured he was safe, until one day the Harbor Master rowed his dingy to the end of the wharf.

"Hey, Rig Driver, puffing on his cigar. "Ya done good getting your song out there. Thanks."

Percy was fiddling with his Zebco and almost dropped the rod in the water. The tug owner stood up and said in soprano, "What?" Seeing the size of the fisherman, The Harbor Master laughed.

"Sorry, wrong guy. Used to be a tug here with one hell of a singer. Made it big, too. That was a real man, I tell ya," and he rowed off.

Percy smiled. He knew his outward appearance and the fake voice had saved him. "Hey, five-six is no longer a weakness but my very armor!" He laughed out loud. But still in soprano.

One day at the bank, the effeminate-looking man with the low voice nearly choked when he looked at his statement.

"Two million dollars?"

And a month later, "Four million?"

My God, I can't believe it!

That evening, after the sun had set, little Percy Fillmore went below, picked up his guitar, and with a very large smile, wondered.What a freak, Rig Driver . I bet you were one in a billion. Maybe trillion.Absently, the small man strummed his guitar and let the words flow.

Tug Boat Tillie

Tug Boat Tillie, ain't she a dilly?

Goes about the docks in clothes so frilly.

One o' these days she's gonna meet her Billy

And, oh, watch out cause it'll send you silly!

Tug Boat Tillie, Tug Boat Tillie, Tug Boat Tillie.

Tug Boat Tillie, ain't she a dilly?

Goes about the docks in clothes so frilly.

But watch her on the sea and you'll see 'nother person,

Bang'n boats 'n haul'n lines fit ta make you worsen/

Tug Boat Tillie, Tug Boat Tillie, Tug Boat Tillie

Tug Boat Tillie, ain't she a dilly?

Goes 'bout the dock in clothes so frilly.

Come ta shore 'n you'll ask for more

But Tug Boat Tillie she ain't no whore.

Tug Boat Tillie, Tug Boat Tillie, Tug Boat Tillie.

Who's to know why some tunes, some lyrics, some voices grab the imagination of the masses? And why, afterRig-Drive'n Man, this Zane Driver, as Percy pseudo-named himself, could become a national phenomenon without anyone knowing who he was?

"Americans do like the mysterious," chuckled Percy, "even if the Mystery Man's bald-headed, fifty years old, and a college mathematics professor!"

Percy was not bald, he was not fifty, and he'd never even been to college. He also hated math. But since we know that he feared exposure, we're not surprised that he hid behind a pseudonym to conceal his identity.

WhenTug Boat Tilliebecame a sensation, naturally the hunt for the real composer-singer began in earnest. The prize of prizes would go to the investigative reporter who could reveal the true identity of the super-famous multimillionaire. Who WAS Mr. Macho, anyway?

Percy laughed himself till he cried. All below the deck ofHercules 11, of course. The media had pegged him at six feet four, two hundred-twenty lean-mean pounds, burly chested with a tattoo of Rig Driver on one side and Tillie on the other. He obviously chugged Jim Bean, drove a Fruehauf to the bowling alley, and was the lady's man of all lady's men.

The five foot six, hundred twenty pound blond, blushing man howled. He knew if he confessed no one would believe him. He vowed to remain silent so the public could enjoy the fantasy. Percy would need no more money for the rest of his life, and he certainly didn't need an ounce of publicity. But a game with big stakes was now in progress, and to keep it a game -- since he felt he had everything to lose -- he did everything he could think of to keep his bass-baritone to himself.

But investigative reporters know their business. They're well versed in pseudonyms, private bank accounts, false addresses, and secret identities.

One of them dug harder and deeper than the rest. He found the name Zane Driver hailed from Boston. That the bank where big deposits were made was The First National, and he even found a number. But with all that, no one could eyeball the composer because no one had ever seen him.

Moreover, the self-recorded CD's were good enough that this Zane, whoever he really was, never showed up at a recording studio. So no matter how the IR's dug, they got no further than The First National and #813256. And even when he stationed himself outside or in, without a face, address, phone number, or e-mail address, no amount of waiting brought success.

Now enters true shrewdness. Percy knew the indefatigable, gossip-hungry journalists would eventually find him unless he consciously did something big. So he gave half of his first two million dollars to Helen Zeller, along with the promise that some day he would compose a song about her,Zeller the Teller, if she promised NEVER to reveal his identity. WhenTillietopped the charts andeveryonesought the mystery man, Percy put the icing on the cake by guaranteeing the quiet girl a life of true financial independence.

Now, Helen was as secretive as she was plain, and her personality wasn't far behind. So once rich, she did not get a makeover, buy a new home or fire-engine red Porshe. She continued to live in her plain, unpretentious pre-money days. To her, the secret she shared was infinitely more grand than attention could ever be. Percy had picked his woman perfectly. Consequently, even the shrewdest, most unethical, skullduggingest reporter never reached first base. The result was that the true identity of Zane Driver remained utterly unknown.

The music industry was all a-tither: now they had two undelivered Grammies and a bushel of other prizes on their hands. Fame, money,nothingcould pull this Jekyll from his hide.

In time, Zane Driver became a federal issue. Literally. The IRS stepped in. And the FBI and all sorts of agencies with three-lettered abbreviations that the public never hears about. But still everyone went away empty handed. The reason: Zane always paid income tax and everything else that could keep him out of jail. This meant that all the electronic deposits and withdrawals worked against them instead of him. And the truth is that Helen, wallflower that she was, truthfully did not remember what Zane had looked like when he first came in. She suspected that he was as non-descript as she. And since he hadn't spoken in his well-known, bass-

baritone, the single time he had spoken to her, she was in as much ignorance as the rest of the nation.

So people waited until a third song would appear. Oh,thenthey'd trap the recluse!

But Percy was nobody's fool. He knew that sharks were experts, especially when desperate. He knew that in time they would discover him. And because he was pathologically shy, he could not, under ANY circumstances, let his true identity leak out.

So he demolished his guitar and never sang another word.

Hey, I've made enough I can live for the rest of my life without even investing it!

There was only way he could possibly have been caught. That was when he and Helen quietly eloped and moved to Hawaii. Dutiful Helen, bank knowledgeable as she was, showed him how to deal with his money and accounts incognito to the end. And so Zane Driver, secretly Percy Fillmore, became truly the most sought after but never-found super-vocalist in history. Something neither Percy nor Helen had ever expected.

And the two kept their secret, too. Perfectly. Because until this day, not a soul knows what either Zane Driver or Tillie looks like. Right?