Teresa and Frank left Vegas before the convention ended. She had taken to calling Deputy Chief O'Gready "Frank" in lieu of "Franconia" which was his northern Vermont family name. It reminded her too much of eastern Europe. Their stay ended abruptly when Teresa surprised Frank in a stairwell with a dancer named Gilda Bliss. The smell of that stairwell confirmed that Frank had indeed not switched after shave. That was the final straw. Her view of him had already been jaded at Boulder Dam where his toupee had flown away during a disgusting display of hork and spit from the lookout platform. That contest with the Mexican cops from the convention was about all she could handle.

They drove day and night until they crossed the Monongahela into a burgh called Monterey. The kid on the desk said it all - "we don't take them nickels". Somehow there were still Canadian coins mixed in her change purse and Teresa immediately wondered about Bill. She had a bad feeling, a guilty feeling. "We should have headed north when I told you" she hissed at Frank who was checking the hotel's breakfast menu. They were in West Virginia, back on the rebel side of the Monongahela. The old hotel was actually nice and she agreed to have breakfast. They were led through double screen doors to a big southern mansion porch with a view across the street to a statue of Jeff Davis that Teresa thought to be perfect likeness of Abe Lincoln. They both ordered silver dollar buckwheat pancakes and on her way back through the screen doors the waitress turned on a brown plastic radio hidden behind the sideboard.

Teresa immediately recognized the voice of Commander Tom as he struggled to run Buffalo Bandstand, a far cry from his regular sports cast. It was talent day and she heard a voice that made her gasp - it was Bill!

Apparently, some weeks before, the Bandstand talent scouts were hanging out with the street people in the parkette in front of the St. Catharines Ontario library and overheard an old rummy doing a tune they thought might work as the theme for a Canadian pilot on WBEN. The old rummy was Bill!!

[Gummo] I figure copping it like that is a shameless thing to do, but they say that under the circumstances it’s in the public domain. Who knows. I guess theft of artistic property is a bit of a grey area in the movie business. It’s sung to the tune of “Brownsville”. It has four verses, which is a problem because it would over-run the credits. However, I’m thinking we could maybe record several versions with three verse combinations and mix them up for variety like they do the sofa gag that opens The Simpsons.

[Miller] I, for one, have no memory of a "Brownsville" tune and said so during a lull in Sil's Brazilian dinner in the Blizzard of '05. Semi-loaded with Cachaca, Gummo slumped way back into his black deco leather chair from Transitions and lowered his chin flat onto his chest. My mouth began to open in protest but he sang anyway and what came out was not at all pleasant to my ear at least. The room fell hushed as he started - we all sensed something bad about to happen. "Ahs goin' down to Brownsville phooah. Ahs goin' down to Brownsville phooah- sort of sounded like that" came up out of his throat as he finished with a deserved guilty look. Wow. We headed back to the dining room for "fresh" cheese and guava pumpkin coconut preserves, and I knew one thing for sure - the sincere delivery of that song pretty well guaranteed that Gummo must surely have heard it at one time or another or how else would something like that be in his head. I briefly explored that question with him and after some thought he admitted to no recollection whatsoever of ever actually hearing it but from the cadence he felt it had to be a Lead Belly original. That got us around to discussing the antics of Even Stephen, but that's a story for another time.

Commander asked Bill about a pilot TV shoot planned for the little town of Virgil where Bill and Meesh used to hang out and buy band-card discount trucks at Mennon Motors! Teresa stopped eating and put both of her hands on her head. Frank looked at her in amazement.

"At first I thought it would work best accompanied by a steel-body guitar and sung sotto voce with a Howlin’ Wolf type howl at the end. Then when I realized we could use different versions to reflect the theme of each episode I thought why not one with a big voice like Big Mama Thornton. And then I thought why not something more contemporary, like Joss Stone or Son Roberts NU Blues Band. I’m sure they’d both appreciate the exposure. And I think it would also work with The Sadies cause Travis Goode’s voice would be perfect. Reggae and mariachi versions would big up the local visible minorities. So here it is."

Teresa was on her feet jumping up and down. The kid on the front desk got scared, dialed the sherriff but hung up when Frank took Teresa in his arms and started to dance. A table of old ladies actually applauded as Bill started to sing and Teresa and Frank waltzed across the floor. There was magic on the front porch that morning in Monterey and everyone out there knew it.

Virgil On Blues

(slide guitar/slow and easy)
I’m goin’ down to Virgil,
Gunna take that old Stone Road.
I’m goin’ down to Virgil,
Gunna take that old Stone Road.
When I get to Virgil
I’m gunna lay down my stone load.
I’m goin’ down to Virgil,
Gunna take that pony o’ mine.
I’m goin’ down to Virgil,
Gunna take that pony o’ mine.
It’s a one trick pony,
Y’know it gets them every time.
I’m goin’ down to Virgil,
Gunna see my kin in church.
I’m goin’ down to Virgil,
Gunna see my kin in church.
I’ll get my taste of their sweet kindness
When they pass that plate.
(instrumental break/slide guitar)
I’m goin’ down to Virgil,
Gunna see that crazy woman o’ mine.
I’m goin’ down to Virgil,
Gunna see that crazy woman o’ mine.
When I get to Virgil
I’ll get drunk on her peach wine.
(mellow howl, in the distance)

Teresa knew that howl oh too well. She first heard it in the days of diapers. Her daughter Maria Santa had always been a "low talker" and when she sung it was a perfect mellow howl - that mellow howl. A howl only a mother could love. They should call the show "I Remember Virgil" said Teresa, wiping away tears as she sat down to finish her Silver Dollar Buckwheat Pancakes in real maple-flavoured syrup from Atlanta. But she couldn't eat.