by Slim Randles
“Folks and friends and neighborly people,” came the loudspeaker blaring of the official car of the Gates of Heaven restaurant. “This year’s your ol’ pal Alphonse Wilson … but you know they call me Windy … bringin’ the latest in news of fine Chinese cousin and other newsy stuff.”
Folks came out of the stores and offices to listen and wave as Windy once again drove around town in the loudspeaker car he borrowed from Delbert Chin’s restaurant.
“Jes’ think on it a minute … you ever get a dirty plate or dirty chopstick in Delbert’s Chinese joint? No you didn’t. Now you take in there them fortunate cookies he has? Got the best fortunes in town. Them cookies are worth the price of the food all by theirselves. Last time I got one, it said a dream of mine would come true.
“And you know what I’m dreamin’ about? A honorary college degree for bein’ the best cowboy camp cook in the whole dang countryside! Thass right. So’s if you folks could see fit to campaignin’ a bit for me, shore would like that. Hey, all it costs is a dang stamp.
“And speakin’ of stamps,“ rang out Windy’s voice, “jes’ stamp yore feet on into the Gates of Heaven Chinese joint here on Main Street. Mebbe we should call it Chow Mein Street, whaddya think? And if you are a real cannon-sewer of Chinese grub, jes’ ask ol’ Delbert to bring you a poo-poo platter. Heard tell it tastes a bunch better than it sounds.”
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