An Ozark Christmas Story
© Adam Granger
David Fanning was released from jail in Jasper, Arkansas, at 9:37 pm on December 24, 1971, two hours after the start of a relatively rare Ozark snowfall. 13 months and ten days earlier, the Newton County sheriff, acting on a tip from a power line worker, had pulled four obviously cultivated marijuana plants out of the ground behind his house, which, because the roots and dirt clods were left attached to the plants, weighed in at 6 pounds. This was a felony amount, and the judge, who was on record denouncing marijuana as the Scourge of all Scourges (as he had other scourges in the past and would others in the future), had given him 364 days in the Newton County jail.
Fanning started serving his sentence on January 14, sixteen days after he found out that his wife, Diane, was pregnant with their first child. On November 14, 1970, he had just finished shopping for her birthday when he had been arrested on the street in Jasper. The judge had set a ludicrously high bail, which David had been unable to make, so he had been in jail from his arrest until now, Christmas Eve, 1971, when he was being released early essentially for being a good guy; everyone—except the judge—liked him.
In David's absence, Diane, who didn't drive, had taken the bus to Gallup, New Mexico, to be with her mother during what turned out to be a difficult pregnancy and delivery, but had returned that day to their house in Mount Sherman. The plan had originally called for her to take the bus home, but she had learned to drive in Gallup and pulled into their driveway at 5:15 that afternoon in a white 1967 Impala—a gift from her mother, a surprise for David and a definite automotive upgrade for the couple. On this night, David, Diane and little Cynthia were to be united for the first time as a family.
When he had been busted, David's 1961 Ford Fairlane had been parked by arresting deputy George McIntyre behind the jail in what served as the Newton County impound lot. David and George were old friends, and George made it clear that he was sorry he had to arrest him, and he meant it and David knew it. David was pleased but not surprised to find Diane's presents still in the back seat. It was to have been a themed birthday: Diane had never gone camping and had always wanted to, so David had bought a three-sided shelter ("reinforced nylon, made in the USA"), two sleeping bags, a Coleman lantern and a can of lantern fuel. Surprisingly, the Fairlane started right up. Maybe George had been occasionally running it for him.
As David headed west on County Road 74, he remembered that the Fairlane, whose fuel gauge was broken, had been low on gas when he was arrested. There were no gas stations open, and David had no money on him anyway. But the drive from Jasper to Mount Sherman was a short one (although it had always seemed long: "County Road 74" was a twisty, narrow dirt road that went nowhere except to Mount Sherman and, beyond that, Ponca). He figured that if he ran out of gas, he could walk the rest of the way to his house.
And so the car began its negotiation of the road, the untracked snow crunching beneath the tires. By now 2 inches had fallen and the snow continued). At exactly the halfway point between Jasper and Mount Sherman—4.5 miles—the Ford ran dry, and David Fanning rolled to a stop in a copse on the right side of the road. His Plan B—to walk—now seemed cavalier and ill-advised, given his worn, holy sneakers and the snowfall and, since he could not imagine any other traffic on 74 late on Christmas Eve, he prepared to spend the night there. He had a good coat and the Ozark thermometer would not dip below the 30s, so, at 7:12, he set up the shelter, laid the sleeping bags one on the other, lit the lantern and built a fire.
Diane found him at 10 that evening. Without a phone at the house, but with good tires on the Impala, she had set out with Cynthia and their black lab, Astro, from Mount Sherman to Jasper. As she rounded a curve midway, she saw first the campfire, then the glow of the lantern's mantle and, finally, David's alert firelit face.
At 10:31, George McIntyre, zipped on an ill-fitting and well-worn Santa suit and set out in his patrol car, headed for David and Diane's place with presents and a hot Christmas dinner that his wife had made. He found the Fanning family at their improvised campsite, sitting in front of the fire on one sleeping bag and wrapped in the other. Astro lifted her head, barked once, recognized George and went back to sleep. Cynthia didn't stir from her slumber in Diane's arms.
Wordlessly, George approached and set the packages down in front of them, then turned back toward his car before the couple could see his eyes welling up. After George drove away, their world fell silent again. The snowfall stopped and a star—it doesn't matter which one—shined through a gap in the trees. Astro lowed a contented low and Cynthia dreamed whatever babies dream and tears rolled down David's and Diane's cheeks and for that night, and maybe for longer, all was right with their world.
Fanning started serving his sentence on January 14, sixteen days after he found out that his wife, Diane, was pregnant with their first child. On November 14, 1970, he had just finished shopping for her birthday when he had been arrested on the street in Jasper. The judge had set a ludicrously high bail, which David had been unable to make, so he had been in jail from his arrest until now, Christmas Eve, 1971, when he was being released early essentially for being a good guy; everyone—except the judge—liked him.
In David's absence, Diane, who didn't drive, had taken the bus to Gallup, New Mexico, to be with her mother during what turned out to be a difficult pregnancy and delivery, but had returned that day to their house in Mount Sherman. The plan had originally called for her to take the bus home, but she had learned to drive in Gallup and pulled into their driveway at 5:15 that afternoon in a white 1967 Impala—a gift from her mother, a surprise for David and a definite automotive upgrade for the couple. On this night, David, Diane and little Cynthia were to be united for the first time as a family.
When he had been busted, David's 1961 Ford Fairlane had been parked by arresting deputy George McIntyre behind the jail in what served as the Newton County impound lot. David and George were old friends, and George made it clear that he was sorry he had to arrest him, and he meant it and David knew it. David was pleased but not surprised to find Diane's presents still in the back seat. It was to have been a themed birthday: Diane had never gone camping and had always wanted to, so David had bought a three-sided shelter ("reinforced nylon, made in the USA"), two sleeping bags, a Coleman lantern and a can of lantern fuel. Surprisingly, the Fairlane started right up. Maybe George had been occasionally running it for him.
As David headed west on County Road 74, he remembered that the Fairlane, whose fuel gauge was broken, had been low on gas when he was arrested. There were no gas stations open, and David had no money on him anyway. But the drive from Jasper to Mount Sherman was a short one (although it had always seemed long: "County Road 74" was a twisty, narrow dirt road that went nowhere except to Mount Sherman and, beyond that, Ponca). He figured that if he ran out of gas, he could walk the rest of the way to his house.
And so the car began its negotiation of the road, the untracked snow crunching beneath the tires. By now 2 inches had fallen and the snow continued). At exactly the halfway point between Jasper and Mount Sherman—4.5 miles—the Ford ran dry, and David Fanning rolled to a stop in a copse on the right side of the road. His Plan B—to walk—now seemed cavalier and ill-advised, given his worn, holy sneakers and the snowfall and, since he could not imagine any other traffic on 74 late on Christmas Eve, he prepared to spend the night there. He had a good coat and the Ozark thermometer would not dip below the 30s, so, at 7:12, he set up the shelter, laid the sleeping bags one on the other, lit the lantern and built a fire.
Diane found him at 10 that evening. Without a phone at the house, but with good tires on the Impala, she had set out with Cynthia and their black lab, Astro, from Mount Sherman to Jasper. As she rounded a curve midway, she saw first the campfire, then the glow of the lantern's mantle and, finally, David's alert firelit face.
At 10:31, George McIntyre, zipped on an ill-fitting and well-worn Santa suit and set out in his patrol car, headed for David and Diane's place with presents and a hot Christmas dinner that his wife had made. He found the Fanning family at their improvised campsite, sitting in front of the fire on one sleeping bag and wrapped in the other. Astro lifted her head, barked once, recognized George and went back to sleep. Cynthia didn't stir from her slumber in Diane's arms.
Wordlessly, George approached and set the packages down in front of them, then turned back toward his car before the couple could see his eyes welling up. After George drove away, their world fell silent again. The snowfall stopped and a star—it doesn't matter which one—shined through a gap in the trees. Astro lowed a contented low and Cynthia dreamed whatever babies dream and tears rolled down David's and Diane's cheeks and for that night, and maybe for longer, all was right with their world.
