STEP AWAY FROM THE DUCK

STEP AWAY FROM THE DUCK

It was Kirkwood’s idea to get us all arrested for killing and roasting ducks at the Trinity park duck pond.
"We’ll make it a picnic! Bring the kids!"
Just one more example of Kirkwood’s perverse talent for stirring up publicity for The Cellar (his already notorious night club) and at the same time, sticking it to City Hall. On the record, the local Fort Worth politicians, the media and the police department all considered Pat Kirkwood’s lewd and lascivious little coffee house on Main Street to be a disreputable black eye on the downtown business community. Off the record, a lot of these same pompous pinheads liked to come down there and wallow in it. The Duck Pond Incident was just Kirkwood’s way of giving something back to the community.

Kirkwood earned his renegade outlaw reputation long before he opened up The Cellar. Before he gained local notoriety as an un-holy sleaze merchant and a defiler of ducks, Pat Kirkwood raced stock cars for a living. He traveled around Texas and through the South, showing up for the big race dressed as the devil wearing black jeans, black T-shirt, a Van Dyke beard and a flowing red cape. The guy wore a cape! Cashing in on his roll as the reprehensible villain, Pat drove a black, beat up looking racecar and on every lap, he would pull as many dangerous and un-sportsman like stunts as he could get away with while the crowd booed and screamed for his blood. And on those occasions when Pat actually won the race, the rabid crowd pelted his car with beer bottles while he made his victory lap with one arm out the window, shooting everyone the finger. Kirkwood packed those arenas with hysterical rednecks eager to blow their paychecks on a handful of tickets just so the entire family could come out and see "That sorry bastard!" die in a fiery, mangled car crash. Life is a carnival after all.

But about those ducks - Well, The Duck Pond Incident was just another scam of course. The actual ducks that were to be roasted in the park were purchased by Kirkwood at a meat market. – All cleaned and ready to cook. He also purchased a grocery bag full of assorted bird feathers and one whole duck that hadn’t yet been cleaned or butchered. This bird still had its head; it’s feathers and feet. The idea was to attract a lot of attention (no problem) and then to horrify as many innocent bystanders as possible by having Kirkwood’s drunken, "Night Of The Living Dead" crew stumble about, make loud, lewd remarks, grope each other and chase live ducks in and out of the duck pond. Meanwhile, Kirkwood, standing out in full view, would vigorously ring the neck of the un-butchered duck, twirling it around like a baton while a few of his crew stood close by, discreetly throwing handfuls of feathers into the air to make the scene even more gruesome. Then before the police arrive to haul us all away for public depravity, the meat market ducks are roasted on a spit, their little carcasses ripped apart and their flesh devoured!

It was a horror show so vile to this gathering of Sunday afternoon park strollers, dog walkers and ball tossing, boloney sandwich eating picnickers that blue haired ladies in orthopedic shoes fainted dead away and old men threatened us with their canes. Mothers grabbed their children and held them close to shield innocent eyes from the spectacle. Others just stood there dumbfounded in a slack-jawed stupor. "For God’s sake! Somebody call the police!" A voice finally rang out. It was Kirkwood trying to move things along. He had the plot all mapped out: Publicly traumatize a few gullible chumps, get arrested, create a big stink with lots of news coverage then expose the whole thing as a hoax and get even more publicity. What could possibly go wrong? But first, we had to get arrested.

This was the part of the plan that a lot of us weren’t too crazy about – The getting arrested part. A lot of unpleasant things can happen to a person in that Bermuda Triangle time zone between when they’re taken into custody and when they’re hopefully, eventually released from custody. And as we all know, the police love a good joke – Especially when it’s at their expense. The police showed up at the park in full force, heavily armed and primed to face the complete breakdown of civilized society and perhaps even demonic possession. The media had been alerted by an anonymous hysterical phone call from Kirkwood’s wife, claiming that a bunch of devil worshiping cannibals had taken over the city park and were sacrificing ducks. "It’s a complete breakdown of civilized society and perhaps even demonic possession!" She screamed into the phone then hung up.

Unfortunately, for Pat, the timing of this little pageant was a bit off and it would take the media a lot longer to arrive than planned. So, there we all were on that pleasant, sunny Sunday afternoon in the park with Pat; surrounded by cops, police dogs, ducks, paddy wagons and a vengeful mob of Park People. It was perfect! But where were the newspaper reporters and the TV crews; the lights, the cameras, the action? "They probably stopped off to cover a fire or a political assassination or some crap like that." Kirkwood grumbled.

As the crowed of angry Park People whooped and cheered, the police herded us all together and one by one, we were frisked for weapons then loaded into the paddy wagons. Kirkwood, stalling for time, still hoping the media would show at any second, managed to hang back un-noticed and un-recognized until it was finally his turn to be searched. "Hold it!" said the officer in charge as he approached. "You’re Pat Kirkwood, right?"

"Yes, sir." Pat answered stiffly.

"I thought so." The officer looked over with growing suspicion at the rest of us in the paddy wagons then back to Kirkwood. Something was definitely up, he thought. "You run that Cellar joint, don’t you?" he asked.

"Yes, sir."

"Where’d you get them ducks?"

"Well, there’s a whole pond full." Kirkwood explained, pointing toward the large gathering of flapping, quacking birds. "You want one?" Unable to hold it in, Kirkwood’s stone face expression cracked into a sly grin. People began to snicker. Others covered their mouths and hid their laughter in fits of coughing and throat clearing. And it wasn’t just us poor, incarcerated souls in the paddy wagons. The cops were laughing too. The officer in charge cleared up whatever throat problems the cops had with just one cold "Your ass is mine" look in their direction. Shaking his head in disbelief, the officer rested his hands on his heavy leather gun belt and took a look around at this ridiculous situation. Fifty yards away, he could see TV news vans pulling up and people with cameras and microphones climbing out and charging over the grassy slopes, heading his way. The officer stared at the ground for a few seconds longer then returned Kirkwood’s sly grin with one of his own. "You’re not gittin’ me mixed up in this." He said then opened the paddy wagon doors. "OK, everybody out!" He ordered. "This show’s over!"

Well, this wasn’t at all what Kirkwood had in mind. The alleged perpetrators were all released and Pat was issued a warning for disturbing the peace. Not even a fine! - Just a piddly-ass warning. The cops packed up their dogs and their tear gas then decided to take a slow cruise over to other side of the park just to make sure nobody fucked with the petting zoo. The not so angry mob of Park People, now left on their own, broke up and wandered off in total confusion, never knowing what the hell was going on to begin with. This left Kirkwood and his merry band of Cellar dwellers back where they started: Roasting their own ducks, drinking beer and passing out from exhaustion after staying up for several days on speed. And in the middle of this great non-event, reporters and TV crews are running around like chickens in the barnyard trying to find out exactly what it was that they’d obviously just missed.

"Where were you guys when I needed you?" Kirkwood bellowed into the TV camera as he gnawed on a roasted duck leg, pausing briefly to wipe his beard on the sleeve of his black T-shirt.