Chapter 3: So That's the Scoop

Well, for a girl who didn’t get out much—at all, practically—there was only one way for Auburn to learn about this “club” everyone seemed to know about, and that was the local newspaper.  Blackwell was too small to have a TV station, and newspaper websites were often pricey or hard to navigate.  That left the Blackwell Journal-Tribune, a twice-a-week paper that was always ending up in the Reynolds’s bushes.  Whoever the paperboy was, he had a bad aim.

Auburn wasn’t a newspaper reader, and she generally ignored this one when it came.  Fortunately, the Reynolds’ were one of those families that stockpiled old newspapers.  It’s not that they collected them; it’s that they rarely threw any of them away.  Mr. Reynolds would leave the paper lying wherever he happened to be reading it—next to his seat in the kitchen, on the sofa in the den, in the hallway by the phone, on the tool table in the garage (though that one was usually too greasy to read).  This caused the Reynolds house to be very messy, but it gave Auburn quite an archive to draw from.

And draw from it she did.  The papers weren’t very thick, which made it easy to go through them.  It didn’t take long for her to find what she was looking for.  Nearly every edition carried an article about the Brotherhood Club, usually the front page one.  “BROTHERHOOD CLUB FIXING HOMES, CHARACTER,” one headline read.  “BROTHERHOOD CLUB CONCERNED WITH INSIDE AND OUTSIDE” read another, discussing the repainting of the Central National Bank & Trust downtown.  “NOT JUST THE BOYS—SISTERS THRIVING IN BROTHERHOOD CLUB,” “BROTHERHOOD CLUB’S GOT YOUR BAG,” “BROTHERHOOD CLUB AN INSPIRATION TO COMMUNITY”—headline after headline after headline.  All speaking quite positively of the club.

Auburn sifted through them, struggling to pick which one to read.  She finally settled on one from about two weeks prior: “BROTHERLY LOVE IN BLACKWELL—PHILADELPHIA BEGINNINGS SHAPED LIFE OF CLUB PRESIDENT.”

Blackwell, Oklahoma—Jack Richards knows the struggles children face.

Growing up in Northwood, the young Richards faced many of them himself.

“It was a rough life,” Richards said.  “My fellow schoolmates were doing drugs, running with gangs, going crazy at parties.  The wrong type of crowd was in vogue at my school.  It was far too easy to get involved.”

That’s why Richards, a local accountant, wants to make sure Blackwell’s youth have a safe option after school.

“A lot of people, when I tell them what I want to do, say, ‘Oh, you don’t need that here.  Blackwell’s not Philadelphia.’  It’s been my experience, however, that kids, no matter where they are, need support as they journey from youth to adulthood.  Having lived in both places, I would say that Blackwell has many of the same problems Philadelphia has.  School-age kids devoid of parental supervision find themselves with too much time on their hands and make bad choices.  In a big city, these problems are much tougher to fix, but that doesn’t make little towns exempt.”

In fact, the lack of awareness of small-town problems is what inspired Richards to come to Blackwell. [Continued on page 3]

Auburn turned the page and kept reading.

then used briefly as a warehouse for Toy Mart before the chain went out of business.  Janet Long, who worked for Toy Mart, says the place is still full of toys.

“The owners wanted to shut down the stores as fast as possible, so they left most of the undelivered inventory at the hotel.  I haven’t been there in five years, but I’d imagine they’re still there.”

Auburn checked the heading.  Oops, that was the wrong article.  This was a continuation of another story from the front page, about an abandoned hotel somewhere in the downtown area.  Auburn checked the page a little more carefully, this time coming up with the correct article.

“New York City, Philadelphia, Dallas, Houston—places like these have seen a strong resurgence in community service organizations designed to promote children’s well-being.  The smaller cities, however, have not seen as many organizations devoted to this end.  I’m one of those people who get a big kick out of doing something no one has ever done before, and I realized, by helping out a small town, I’d give myself that added zest needed to do a great job.  Before I came here, I lived in Washington, Indiana.  While there, I did the exact same thing I did here, and in the five years I spent in the town, I saw a tremendous transformation in the lives of young people, ages 10-18.  I try not to judge my own success, but the testimonials from parents, the smiles on the faces of formerly challenged youth, the happiness in the community—those were the signs which told me that I had done my part.  The hardest thing I ever did was leave Washington, and it was only with the assurance that another—a teen I had personally mentored through the program—could step in and continue my role.”

Now, Richards’s Brotherhood Club in Blackwell is well on its way to becoming a role model for other towns across the nation.

“I don’t want to say that everyone has an obligation to start one of these,” said Richards.  “In fact, I don’t even see it as an obligation.  It’s something I wanted to do for the community, a way I could give back.  Some might not have a desire to give back, and those people are entitled to make their own decisions.  But I’ve always found that when you give back, you’re the one who receives the most.”

Naomi Wells can be reached at (580)617-4241.  The Associated Press did not contribute to this report.

Auburn’s interest was gone after the first couple paragraphs, but she didn’t like to leave things unfinished, so she read the entire article anyway.  Perhaps it was because she’d never belonged to any, but she was always skeptical of clubs like this one.  Other towns she’d lived in had their own versions, but their influence seemed negligible to Auburn.  Juveniles still found themselves in detention centers—not most, of course, but more than would be expected if the organization was really keeping kids out of trouble.  Districts with crime problems saw no lessening in the intensity of criminal activity.  Places unsafe at night were still unsafe at night.

However, as Auburn continued reading, something began to bother her about the article.  She wasn’t sure what it was, so she forced herself to go back over it, scrutinizing each word for anything out of the ordinary.  Some part of her brain had detected it, but it wasn’t the part that could tell her what it was.  When a thorough review of the article proved fruitless, Auburn decided she had to read some more.

She was reading the one about the club painting the bank when she finally figured it out.  The article quoted Richards, the bank president, and a Mrs. Joanna Ashcroft, whose son was in the club.  Nowhere did it quote anyone who was actually in the club.  In fact, none of the articles had a single quote from someone in the organization, except for Richards.

The reason seemed all too painfully obvious to Auburn after her encounter with Brittany earlier that day.  Those kids don’t like the club, she thought to herself.  They don’t like Mr. Richards.  I wonder what the reason is.

Immediately, the dollar bill incident from earlier popped into her mind.  That wasn’t very nice, she thought, but it’s not the reason—or maybe it’s part of it!  The dollar bill incident was just a little thing, but perhaps, just perhaps, it was an insight into Richards’s character.  Maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t the nice guy he seemed on the surface.  Maybe, just maybe, he had some deep, dark secret.

If he did, though, it was a secret, and Auburn couldn’t figure it out right now.  She stuffed all the newspapers into a paper bag, not bothering to organize them.  Once finished, she was tempted to throw them out, but decided against it.  It would be just like Mom to take interest in them once they were gone.

She reached into her pocket and realized suddenly that she still had the change from earlier when she’d bought the soda.  Two quarters.  She trotted straight to her room, pulled out the coins, and plopped them into her bank, watching them fall on the stack of coins below.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tuesday, at 5:00

The first inkling of trouble for Arnold Goldsworthy, president of the Central National Bank & Trust, came just after the last employee left.  Goldsworthy often stayed late, going over the accounts.  Two years ago, an employee’s taste for jewelry had left the bank several hundred dollars short.  It hadn’t been the biggest tragedy of all time, but Goldsworthy was a perfectionist, and he’d worked since then to make sure no one messed with the funds.

What he wasn’t expecting after he locked the door was to turn around and find a masked midget staring at him.  The figure was dressed normally enough—plaid button-down shirt, jeans, sneakers—except for the ski mask pulled over his/her face.  The gun in the figure’s right hand confirmed that this was not just a social call.

“In the vault, please.”  The voice was very squeaky, obviously not the figure’s normal tone.

“Now, just a minute!” Goldsworthy held up his hands.  “I’m not going to argue with a gun, but we have a time-safe.  It can only be opened at six o’clock in the morning.”

“I happen to know you never close it,” the pint-sized burglar retorted.  The statement was not delivered crossly, nor lightly, but somberly.

Unfortunately, it was true, and Goldsworthy knew when he’d met his match.  “Follow me,” he said, leading the way to the door to the back room.  He punched in a code and swung it open.

To his surprise, the lights (which had been turned off at closing) were back on, and there were two other pint-sized burglars in the room, about the same height as the first.  They stood silently to the left of the door, staring across at the open vault door.

“Don’t try anything,” the first spoke.  “The rest of us will have you covered while…”

The burglar failed to finish the sentence, not so much because the rest was understood, but more out of a reluctance to continue.  If Goldsworthy hadn’t been so scared, he might have noticed this, but the man was too frightened to pay any attention.

Slowly, he walked across the room to the vault, in order to open the door.  Like many banks, this vault had two doors—the heavy outer one and a light inner one that looks more like a door to a prison cell.  Blackwell’s bank was in the habit of leaving the outer one open so they could access the vault during the day, and the employees were always a little tardy about closing it.  This was why, even though the heavy door was open, the thieves still needed Goldsworthy to open the other door.

Pulling out his key, Goldsworthy hoped that someone would walk in and distract the criminals.  He knew this was wishful thinking.  The bank was closed, and no one ever came back after closing hours.  No one friendly, that is.  Except—Mrs. Mullins!  She had a habit of leaving her umbrella behind and returning to pound on the door—

But that was on rainy days.  Even if today had been rainy, which it wasn’t, what could Mrs. Mullins do against three armed robbers?  The other two individuals had guns too—Goldsworthy had spotted this right as he entered the room.  He now wondered, as he turned the key in the lock, what would come next.  The burglars probably wouldn’t want to risk taking a murder rap, but didn’t criminals often clobber their victims over the head, to keep them from trying to escape?

Goldsworthy swung open the door and braced himself for a blow.

“Back against the wall,” barked the first burglar, still the only one to speak.  Motioning to the other two, the first kept the president covered as the other two wandered into the vault with sacks.

A faint smile sought its way onto Goldsworthy’s mouth, but he suppressed it.  Bank vaults don’t just have money lying around all over the place.  They’ve got safe deposit boxes, drawers, and other compartments, all locked.  If these criminals expected to just waltz in and stuff their bags, they had a big disappointment coming…

The jingle of keys echoed out of the vault.  Then, there was the sound of a drawer being opened, and something was dumped into a sack.  Another sound of keys, and another, and another, and…Goldsworthy didn’t have to bother to hide the smile anymore.  It wasn’t there at all.

In the most torturous minutes of his life, he listened as the thieves went through a good chunk of the safe, emptying anything they opened into their sacks.  When they finally wandered back out, both sacks were bulging.

The first one motioned to the other two to head out the door, which he then started backing towards.  “Don’t try to follow us,” he told Goldsworthy.  “We know what your car looks like, and we won’t hesitate to shoot.”

Goldsworthy wasn’t planning on it.  He could see that these individuals meant business.  Instead, he remained rooted in place until the door swung shut.

Now, the dilemma.  Should I try to see their car, Goldsworthy wondered, or should I wait here?  The minute spent deciding was worse in some ways than the minutes spent watching the thieves plunder the vault.  Finally, Goldsworthy decided to be bold.  He ran for the door and slid it open, just in time to hear the back door closing.

Quickly, he ran towards the back of the bank.  As he was almost at the door, he heard a car speed away from the curb.  He slipped open the door, eager to get a look…

But all he saw were three cars, calmly following a twenty-five mile per hour speed limit, driving down the road close together.  A white Chevy Silverado, a blue Toyota Camry, and a silver Ford Focus.  Only one was the bank robbers’ car, and Goldsworthy had no idea which it was.  Before he could decide which one to remember, the cars were too far off to see.

Slamming the door, Goldsworthy rushed for the phone and dialed the police.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

News of the robbery reached the Reynolds’s the next day, as Mrs. Reynolds was listening to the radio and having breakfast.  It was a Wichita music station, but they always had news on the half hour, and the news covered a wide area.  Blackwell was close enough to Kansas to be included on the news report, so there it was.

“Authorities are investigating after three midgets held up the Central National Bank & Trust in downtown Blackwell yesterday afternoon.  Arnold Goldsworthy, the president, was just finishing up for the day when a midget-sized gunman forced him to open the vault, where two other midget-sized robbers emptied the safe.  Chief of Police Wilbur Morris says the police are baffled as to how the subjects entered the building.

“‘The cameras at the bank don’t show the robbers ever entering the building.  Our first look at them came when their leader flicked on the lights in the vault room and went to get the president.’

“Anyone with knowledge about the crime is encouraged to call the police.  The incident occurred just after five o’clock yesterday afternoon.  I’m Paula Shanlon.”

“Now, back to Dave and Brenda’s Hits of the Late—”

Crash!

Mrs. Reynolds looked up in surprise, only to see that the noise had come from a mug that had fallen from her daughter’s hand.  “Five o’clock!” said Auburn.  “Did he say five o’clock?”

“Uh, I think so,” said Mrs. Reynolds, looking worried.  “Are you about to have another—”

“Dad wasn’t home from work yet!” said Auburn.  “He didn’t get back until 7:30!  What if the police think he—”

“Auburn!  Didn’t you hear the report?  The bank robbers were all really short.  Your dad’s six-foot three!  They’re not going to suspect him!”

“They’re short?” said Auburn.  “Oh.  Ohhhhhh!”  She laughed, a little stiffly.  “I guess there’s nothing to worry about, then, is there?”

Mrs. Reynolds smiled in relief at her daughter.  “Don’t worry,” she said.  “You’ve got to work on your emotions.”

“I’ll try,” said Auburn, smiling at her mom.  “Have a good time at the insurance agency.”

“Hah!” Mrs. Reynolds laughed.  “After Nelson’s tirade yesterday?  I’ll do my best, but you’re asking a lot—”

“You try to have a good time, Mom,” said Auburn, “and I’ll try not to worry.”  She gave her mother a hug and a kiss before heading down the hall to her room.  Once there, she closed the door and breathed a deep sigh of relief.

You see, Auburn hadn’t been the least bit worried about her dad.  She was really good at cover-ups, when she needed them.  That five o’clock time hadn’t set her off because her dad had been away.  It had set her off because she knew someone who’d had something going on at five that day.  Someone who’d seemed extremely worried about something.

Someone who Auburn was going to visit that afternoon.