I was reading an article that basically said God puts a dream/vision/purpose in your heart. You may get sidetracked and forget about it for years but it is there and it will be brought forward at the right time.
This made me think about how on and off throughout my life I have always wanted to be a writer. I wrote this story when I was around ten-years old with my grandpa, Clarence Burgraff. He owned a chain of tire stores and most of this story will contain some names of folks that worked at the home office at the time. We printed this off and sold copies of it to the employees to read…I got $.25 for each one I sold. I thought I was super cool. So I would like to share the story with you today.
“The Rigonni Papers”
This story you are about to read is a true story, only the facts have been changed to alter the outcome.
Once there were five robbers. Their names were Larry, Jerry, Russ, Gippy and Mike the Arab.
There was a man that they hated with a passion, Clarence E. Burggraf. Mr. Burggraf had some papers called the Rigonni Papers. These thugs had a great desire to obtain these papers.
Mr. Burggraf had a spy network in Kansas City, headed up by Bob Banks. The spies informed Mr. Burggraf that the thugs were coming to Quapaw with guns to take away the papers. When the group drove into town from the north, Mr. Burggraf spied them from his window. He got his shotgun and stepped into the restroom.
The thugs parked their hippy van northbound by the Michelin sign. One of the thugs went in the driver’s entrance and sealed off that room. One of the thugs held the office girls at bay. One of the robbers went in Joe’s office. It was not necessary to put one in Dorothy’s office because she fainted.
The other two robbers ran up the stairs with guns in their hands. Mr. Burggraf had very wisely taken the October issue of Playboy magazine and inserted it in a brown legal envelope and marked it “Rigonni Papers”.
The one thug burst into Mr. Burggraf’s office, ran to his desk and grabbed the papers from his desk and started to run out the door. Mr. B. stepped out of the restroom and shot him in the back. As he fell in the hall, the other thug came out of the accounting office, grabbed the so-called papers and ran down the steps yelling, “Let’s hook ’em fellows!”
They ran to the van and jumped in with Mike the Arab at the wheel. The world’s greatest race car driver revved his engine wide open. Thinking that “R” on the transmission stood for race instead of reverse, the van lurched backwards with such speed that it hit the Michelin sign post. It threw two of the thugs sliding down the sidewalk like greased pigs, only stopping after their heads hit the fireplug in front of the Bank of Quapaw. They broke the fireplug off at the ground, spraying water 100 feet in the air.
The driver regained his composure and put his van in forward gear with the engine still wide open. Jumping over Fred Smith’s station wagon, the van raced wildly northward out of town with Gippy in the passenger seat picking his guitar and singing “I’m a Movin’ On”.
Just south of the state line, the van pulled in the chat pile to divide their loot, thinking they really had the Rigonni Papers. They started a fight over the centerfold. They pulled their guns and fatally shot each other, dropping the “Rigonni Papers” to the ground. With a north wind blowing, the papers scattered all over Lincolnville for two or three days.
If there is a moral to this story, it would have to be:
If you want a Playboy, buy it at a book store!
Big and little C.B.