Here's Johnny

Five A.M. again! That time of day seemed to come around more often than any other time of day. Sometimes it showed up unexpectedly. Sometimes it was agonized for hours, long before it ever arrived. Ready for work, I would walk, jog, run toward the grandest of all structures in the yard. That building could be seen for miles when approaching from any direction. It was actually built in stages starting with Phase I, erected in 1935. A modest piece of work at that time, but as highly functional then as it became later. The next installment was put together four years later just to the north of the first one and attached directly. It was taller than the first and gave the impression that if more would be built, that they may each grow taller and grander until a final entry may certainly reach well into the clouds. Newer additions were fabricated to the south and north of the original buildings in 1960 and 1964 respectively. They were both of the same height, which was less than the stature of the segment put up in 1939, and seemed to lack the imposing character of the two original pieces. Together, the four buildings made up what was lovingly referred to as the “Pig Barn”. The Pig Barn was the destination of my daily five-in-the-morning jaunt and the venue in which I performed several times daily. For each of my daily gigs, I would roll back the massive sliding door on the south end of the most southerly barn, revealing a central concrete alley-way bounded on each side by endless rows of pig pens. Each pen contained anywhere from eight to 15 pigs, depending on age and size. Each pig within a pen bore it’s own character and personality. Each character had his or her own voice and appearance. As I stepped up into the Pig Barn and proceeded northward along the alley-way, I could hear one or two small murmurs, “He’s here, he’s in the barn.” Gradually, more and more voices filled the soundless gaps. Gradually, more and more volume was added to the noise of this now-bubbling throng. As I would reach the center of my concrete stage, I would stop and clap my hands once and sharply. The voices would stop in an instant and at which time, I would proclaim with great gusto and enthusiasm, “Heeeere’s Johnny!!” At this point every other individual in the Pig Barn would begin to run around its own group enclosure, yelling and screaming at the top of little piggy lungs, “We love you Johnny!” I would dance on my private stage in full view of my audience, throwing my arms and hands in the air while facilitating the perpetuation of shock-waves of porcine passion through the entire length of the barn. Some of my fans would stand on their hind legs and dance themselves while pawing at the sky. All would continue to scream, “We love you Johnny!” All would reach out for me in the hopes that I would reach back and touch them in turn. And when I did touch them, it was often more than they could handle, and they would drop to ‘all fours’ and then roll on the floor and convulsively gyrate until brought back to a condition of lucidity by their friends, whereupon the whole fit of unbridled rambunctiousness would begin again. I would sometimes continue my performance for nearly 30 minutes before I would stop and sign autographs for my adoring fans. They would bare their fair white and bristlely skin and thrust body parts in my direction. With blue and red grease markers, I would scrawl my name on their backs or limbs or faces or ears. They would attempt to embrace me while tugging at my clothing. I would have to push them away in fear of being mauled or thrown to the floor and trampled by the maddening crowd. After the autograph sessions were completed, I would provide them with a buffet meal and plenty of refreshing beverages. They would partake oh-so-willingly. After they finished they would look at me adoringly and proclaim, “You are the best Johnny – the absolute best and we love you with all of our four-chambered and homeothermic hearts.” As I would leave the barn and roll the door closed, they would beg me, “Please come back again Johnny. We love you truly and dearly and we would simply die without you.” I would reply while blowing kisses, “Five o’clock tomorrow it will be then.”