Blog-o-ween 2026: Playin' Chicken with Stephen King's Christine — Day 23

Part 3: Chapter 45

It’s New Year’s Eve, and 1978 is almost history. Dennis needs to convince himself that he and Leigh are on the right track and are doing the right thing. (Hanky-panky notwithstanding.) To do this, Dennis calls up Arnie to see if he is interested in continuing their tradition of spending 31 December together. Before Arnie gets on the line, Regina (ecstatic to hear from Dennis — my, how times have changed) tells Dennis that both she and Michael are afraid to talk to their son. His anger explodes at the drop of a hat. She fears she may be losing him somehow.

Once on the phone, Arnie sounds like a different person. Dennis barely recognizes his friend’s voice. The two old friends (and one new one) make plans to see 1979 across the threshold.

Dennis goes to Arnie’s house and is met by someone he doesn’t know. It is an old man in a young man’s body. It is LeBay. Dennis and Arnie drink beers, eat popcorn and see in the New Year. After, Arnie drives Dennis home. On the way they make a few stops… into the past…

Before we officially begin our dive into Chapter 45, we here at LARP Co. just want to take this opportunity to wish everyone who celebrates it a Happy Silver Shamrock Day.

As you well know, 23 October is the day that the action begins in Tommy Lee Wallace’s Halloween III: Season of the Witch (1982). It is a blood-red-letter day for fans of the science-fiction/horror genre, the writing of Nigel Kneale, the sexy antics of Pittsburgh’s own Tom Atkins, and the appeasement of ancient Irish gods with child sacrifice.

That’s one helluva Venn diagram!

Okay, with that bit of housekeeping out of the way, where should we begin? Well, how’s about with Guy Lombardo and Dick Clark?

Who and who?

Sadly, both Guy Lombardo and Dick Clark are probably names lost in the mists of time to many of you younger Blog-o-weeners. So it goes. To Americans of certain vintages, when New Year’s Eve is mentioned both/either Lombardo and/or Clark spring to mind. For some, Ol’ Guy and Dick were the only dates they had on 31 December.

Born in London, Ontario, in 1902, Gaetano Alberto “Guy” Lombardo formed the Royal Canadians in 1924 with his brothers Carmen, Lebert and Victor, and some other cats from his hometown. Lombardo and the Royal Canadians recorded music for a number of labels, including Columbia, Brunswick, Decca, and RCA Victor. All in all, it is estimated that they sold anywhere from 100 to 300 million records.

Lombardo is perhaps best-remembered for his New Year’s Eve broadcasts with his band. Beginning in 1929, the Royal Canadians played live over the airwaves from the Roosevelt Hotel in New York City. These yearly programs were immensely popular. In 1956, their first television special was aired on CBS. In 1959, the show was moved to the Waldorf Astoria Hotel where it remained until Lombardo’s death in 1977. Every program was ended with the song that became synonymous with both the holiday and the bandleader: “Auld Lang Syne.”

Richard Wagstaff Clark (Wagstaff? Wagstaff?!) — better known as Dick Clark — was born in Bronxville, New York, in 1929. Working his way up from the mailroom (literally!) of a local AM radio station, Clark would take the reins of a local Philadelphia television show in 1956 after the original host was arrested for drunk driving. That show — later renamed American Bandstand — would go national in 1957, and Dick Clark’s fame was cemented as “America’s Oldest Teenager.” American Bandstand would run for 37 seasons in different forms and on different networks. 

Not only was Dick Clark’s name synonymous with rock’n roll, but, beginning in 1972, it became associated with New Year’s Eve, too. New Year’s Rockin’ Eve started out on NBC, but soon moved to ABC. Clark, as both producer and host of the show, looked to differentiate his show from Lombardo’s. By focusing on rock’n roll he tapped into the youth market and ratings soared. With Lombardo’s death, Dick Clark’s New Year’s Rockin’ Eve took over as the end-of-the-year program people wanted to watch.

I’m all for parents being kinda cool about their underaged sons and daughters tipping one or two beers back for New Year’s, but all the adults in Christine talk like they’ve been slamming oat sodas with kids (and not even their own kids) ever since they were weened off the nipple. Sheesh!

Post-Prohibition (1933), the drinking age fluctuated state-by-state in the United States. In Stephen King’s home state of Maine, the age went from 21 to 20 in 1969, then down to 18 in 1972, then up to 20 in 1977 after the passage of the 26th Amendment to the U.S. Constitution (which established a nationally standardized minimum age of 18 for participation in state and federal elections), then up again to 21 with the National Minimum Drinking Age Act of 1984.

Whew! I could use a drink trying to follow that road.

In Pennsylvania, things are a bit easier to understand. The drinking age is 21. Always has been. The end.

Not only is Arnie putting the beer away like a second Prohibition is coming with the new year, but he is smoking Tiparillos.

Say what now?

The name Tiparillo is a mash-up of the words “tip” (as in the plastic tip you stick in your mouth) and “cigarillo” (a short, narrow cancer stick that sits somewhere between a cigar and a cigarette). The name was trademarked by the Pinkerton Tobacco Company (any relation to the Pinkerton Detective Agency?). Cigar makers hoped that the Tiparillo would attract younger smokers and women.

Nice… but no cigar.

(I regret nothing!)

Dennis’s ride home in Christine is a doozy, ain’t it? It’s a great scene. Maybe my favorite in Christine? (Although… there’s an upcoming scene in the school parking lot that I love quite a bit.) Dennis refers to Christine as “a hellish haunted house that rolled on Goodyear rubber” (415), and that certainly sums up his trip back through time. It’s just another example of the “Return of the Repressed” in the book. Christine is the vehicle (pun intended) of the past’s dead hands reaching out to the present. LeBay’s fury — as well as his Plymouth Fury — may be seeking to teach the shitters of the world a lesson, but it’s no accident that it’s to the 1950s he and she wish to return.

At his home and in Christine, we get the sense that Arnie has gone bye-bye almost fully. He is entirely at LeBay’s mercy (of which the old man has none). Going back to the King’s idea of the myth-pool, we seem to be in Werewolf territory as exemplified by Robert Louis Stevenson’s Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Arnie (like the good Dr. Jekyll) cannot control when LeBay (the evil Mr. Hyde) comes to the fore. In Part Two, there were many instances where Arnie is still there, still the dominant personality, still able to sense the danger that he is in. Here, on New Year’s Eve, that no longer seems to be the case. LeBay, like an alcoholic’s bottle or a drug addict’s line of coke, has chipped away at Arnie’s resolve until, finally, all that remains is the gnawing need for more.

When Dennis hobbles his way out to Christine, he can no longer tell himself that what he and Leigh suspect is happening is not true:

“I got hold of the doorhandles with one gloved hand, and a hopeless feeling of dread and revulsion swept over me. It wasn’t until then that I really began to believe it, deep inside, where a person lives. Because that doorhandle felt alive under my hand, It felt like some living beast that was asleep. The doorhandles didn’t feel like chromed steel; dear Christ, it felt like skin. It seemed as if I could squeeze it and wake the beast up, roaring.” (414)

Dennis goes on to speculate about what Christine is deep down inside:

“What was it? Some sort of afreet? An ordinary car that had somehow become the dangerous, stinking dwelling-place of a demon? A weird manifestation of LeBay’s lingering personality, a hellish haunted house that rolled on Goodyear rubber?” (414-5)

We’ve talked quite a bit throughout the month about what is happening in Christine, the novel, and Christine, the car. This is the closest we get to an actual answer, though it isn’t much of one. (We’ll get a little more information once Dennis talks to George LeBay. You tell me if it answers our questions.)

Before we pull into the motel up ahead, let’s go back to a term that Dennis brings up briefly: afreet.

Say what now?

Afreet (aka ifrit, efreet, afrit) is a type of Jinn in Islamic culture. They are associated with the underworld and identified with the spirits of the dead. In Islamic folklore, the afreet are ruthless, wicked, and formed out of smoke and fire. If summoned, an afreet can be controlled by a sorcerer to carry out blood vengeance and avenging murder.

That certainly seems to be what we have here, but was LeBay smart enough or savvy enough to conjure a demon — and a demon closely associated with a religion he’d know nothing about?

We shall see…

All righty… there’s the hotel, and here is where we stop for the night. While I’m checking under the bed and in the closet for demons, why don’t you read Part 3: Chapter 46. Dennis finally gets a hold of George LeBay, and they don’t talk about Ezra Pound. Ol’ Rollie LeBay gets painted in a whole new light, though. Better make sure your shoes are double-knotted, because what Dennis learns is gonna knock your socks off.

I’ve never been much of a fan of going out and celebrating New Year’s Eve. Personally, the thought of being around that many drunk people fills me with a fear and loathing that would make Hunter S. Thompson proud. (Or sad, seeing as he was a bit of a drunk himself.) There is one New Year’s Eve tradition that I am proud to have participated in, however — the Pickle Drop in Dillsburg, PA.

Dillsburg has no known connection to the pickle industry outside of having the word “dill” in its name. That didn’t stop the town fathers and mothers from replacing the light-up ball most New Year’s Eve celebrations use to denote the passing of the old year with a giant, anthropomorphic pickle. When the tradition first began in 1992, it was meant as a celebration of Dillsburg’s Irish founders. They used to drop the pickle at 7 p.m. because that was midnight in Ireland.

Now that makes me very suspicious. I hope we don’t have another “Silver Shamrock” situation brewing in Western Pennsylvania. I’d hate to think that a Dillsburgian Conal Cochran has some sort of pickle-based, mass-sacrifice planned for Samhain. It’s like I always say: fool me into buying Halloween masks loaded with pieces of Stonehenge that will trigger an enormous child sacrifice — shame on you; fool me into congregating in the town square beneath the visage of a giant, smiling, green, hell demon in the shape of a pickle — shame on me.

But, dammit, those deep-fried pickles are so delicious! Ah, well, you’d think I’d know better by now since…

Blog-o-ween 2026: Playin' Chicken with Stephen King's Christine — Day 22

Part 3: Chapter 44

It is three weeks after their clandestine meeting, and Dennis and Leigh have fallen in love. During that time, Dennis sends Leigh to the Libertyville Municipal Offices to get two items: copies of the registration slips for Christine. The ages of those slips of paper are separated by over twenty-one years, but the signatures are a lot closer. Arnie’s signature on the slip from 1978 matches his first signature of Dennis’s cast. The signature on the slip from 1957 is by LeBay, and it matches Arnie’s second signature.

Needing more information, Dennis decides to reach out to George LeBay again. Not knowing his phone number, Dennis contacts one of the men from the Libertyville American Legion who had been at LeBay’s funeral. He hands Richard McCandless a song and dance about needing to talk to LeBay’s brother, and then McCandless, in turn, hands Dennis a story about the time Christine tore the finger off of a fellow veteran during a practical joke.

Some joke…

Oh, Dennis… oh, Leigh… I know that some things can’t be helped, but you two picked a fine time to…

Close, but no.

It’s like the poet once said, “The heart is deceitful above all things and beyond cure.” Well, I’ll tell you this for free, if falling in love behind a friend’s back is the disease, then the threat of getting run over by his haunted car is the cure. The roll call of the dead — Moochie, Buddy, Richie, Darnell — would be enough to encourage me to keep it in my pants. (Maybe.) Of course, as another poet once said, “The heart wants what it wants,” so… well, so be it.

We get some more hoo-hah about Arnie and LeBay’s signatures merging, but — again — I don’t see it. I guess this is why I don’t work for the FBI.

Still and all, I love me a good trip to an archive or library for a research scene. We don’t follow Leigh to the Libertyville Municipal Offices (maybe we would have had this been a scene in Part Two), but we have the fruits of her labor.

While Dennis and Leigh are comparing signatures for their similarities, Dennis’s dad is noticing something different about Arnie:

“‘I’ve seen him two or three times,’ my father said.

‘You have?’ I said, startled. ‘Where?’

My father shrugged. ‘On the street. Downtown. You know. Libertyville’s not that big, Dennis. He…’

‘He what?’

‘Hardly seemed to recognize me. And he looks older. Now that his face has cleared, he looks much older. I used to think he took after his father, but now—’ He broke off suddenly. ‘Dennis, has it occurred to you that Arnie may be having some sort of nervous breakdown?’” (394)

Oh, yes, Mr. Guilder. The thought has crossed your son’s mind. Of course, you’d need to ask the follow-up question: whose nervous system is having the breakdown? That’s a question I don’t think the best minds in Vienna could answer.

Who knew ol' Siggy invented the "gangsta lean"?

When Dennis calls Richard McCandless to ask about George LeBay’s address, the older man is described as sounding like “Andy Devine and Broderick Crawford” (396).

Who and who?

Andrew Vabre Devine (Vabre? Vabre?) was an American character actor best known for his work in westerns such as Stagecoach (1939), The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance (1962), and How the West Was Won (1962), as well as countless Roy Rogers films. He was also the voice of “Friar Tuck” in the Disney animated film Robin Hood (1973). Devine was also well known on the radio on such shows as The Adventures of Wild Bill Hickok, The Jack Benny Show, and Andy’s Gang.

It was thought that Devine’s distinctive voice — wheezy and crackly — would keep him out of the “talkies,” but just the opposite happened. Instead, it became his calling card. Devine claimed that his voice resulted from a childhood accident in which he fell while running with a curtain rod in his mouth. (Say what?!) The rod pierced the roof of his mouth, and he was left with a scratchy voice. However, it’s been discovered that this is just one of several stories that Devine invented about the source of his voice.

Broderick Crawford was also an actor with a distinctive voice. His distinct barking line delivery saw him cast in plenty of tough-guy roles. It was his portrayal of “Willie Stark” in the film adaptation of Robert Penn Warren's novel All the King's Men (1949) that lifted him out of character actor roles and into the big time. He won both the Academy Award and the Golden Globe for Best Actor. Later, he took on the starring role in the television series Highway Patrol (1955–59).

Crawford was born in Philadelphia, PA. (Maybe he was a Phillies fan?) His family were vaudeville performers. Despite his patchy formal education, Crawford was accepted by Harvard, but he only stayed for a few months. He left college to work as a stevedore on the New York docks. Somehow, the sound of his voice fits better on the docks than in classroom, I think.

When Dennis calls Richard McCandless, he tells the man that he wants to contact George LeBay, because he promised to send him research material on Ezra Pound.

Who now?

Ezra Weston Loomis Pound is a major figure in the history of American poetry, Modernism, and Fascist collaboration. Pound is best known for The Cantos, a poem written in 109 sections between the years 1915 and 1962.

Pound blamed the horrors of the First World War on finance capitalism. (Fair enough, says I.) In 1924, he moved to Italy and embraced both Benito Mussolini and Adolf Hitler. (Not cool.) During the Second World War, he recorded hundreds of paid radio propaganda broadcasts for the Italian government, as well as the Salò Republic (Italy’s later incarnation as a German puppet state). He attacked the United States government, Franklin D. Roosevelt, Britain, international finance, the arms industry, Jews, and others as abettors and prolongers of the war. At the war’s end, Pound was captured and spent months in a U.S. military detention camp near Pisa, including three weeks in an outdoor steel cage. Ruled mentally unfit to stand trial, Pound was incarcerated for over 12 years at St. Elizabeths Hospital in Washington, D.C. He died in 1972.

Well, that’s a bit of a bummer, ain’t it, Blog-o-weeners? I see the neon sign of our motel is coming up fast, so let’s try to end on a sweeter note than American Modernism’s troubled history of Fascist sympathizing. Let’s end on America’s troubled history of allowing our pop stars to act and our actors to sing. Let’s talk Dennis’s sister’s favorite singer, Shaun Cassidy.

While still in high school, Shaun Cassidy was signed to Warner Bros. Records, releasing five albums from 1976 to 1980. At about the same time, Cassidy starred (along with Parker Stevenson) in ABC-TV’s The Hardy Boys/Nancy Drew Mysteries. Later, Cassidy turned his talents to writing and producing network and cable television programs. He created, amongst many others, the shows American Gothic (1995–1996 — produced with Sam Raimi) and Roar (1997 — starring Heath Ledger).

I have a confession to make, Blog-o-weeners. I had the 7” single of Shaun Cassidy’s hit “Da Doo Ron Ron” when I was a kid. Hey, wha’d’ya want? I was seven-years-old! I also had the KISS solo albums if that helps my “cool factor” any. (I know… it doesn’t.) I was also known to sing along with Joey Scarbury’s “Believe It or Not (Theme from “The Greatest American Hero”), dance to Ray Parker, Jr.’s “Ghostbusters,” and cry to “Snoopy's Christmas” by The Royal Guardsmen.

Again — wha’d’ya want from me?!

Sure I could say I was listening to The Ramones, King Crimson, and John Coltrane when I was seven, but that would be ridiculous. (I didn’t get into Coltrane until I was nine.) Instead, I’m taking this opportunity to allow myself to be vulnerable and admit to the bad taste of youth that we all experience. I’m sure there are some skeletons in your musical closet that you’re more than a little embarrassed by. It feels good to come clean, so be like me! After all…

Blog-o-ween 2026: Playin' Chicken with Stephen King's Christine — Day 21

Part 3: Chapter 43

After getting his parents and his sister out of the house, Dennis prepares for Leigh’s visit. Both Darnell and Vandenberg’s deaths are big news on television and the newspapers. Dennis senses that things are coming to a head.

Leigh arrives, and the two FVKs (Fearless Vehicle Killers) begin to trade information. They talk about the change in Arnie’s personality, his use of LeBay’s word “shitters,” and his obsession and anger that is so close to LeBay’s own. Dennis tells Leigh about LeBay’s daughter and how she died. Leigh runs to the bathroom and throws up.

Later, Dennis shows Leigh two segments of the cast that was on his leg. Both pieces carry the name “Arnie Cunningham,” but only one of them, Dennis is sure, was actually written by his friend.

Dennis and Leigh seal their conspiracy — as well as their fates (though they don’t know this yet) — with a kiss…

One quick bit of housekeeping before we get into today’s chapter.

As I said before, we are back to good ol’ Dennis Guilder’s narration here in Part Three. King himself has said that the switch from first-person to third-person was somewhat forced on him. He had written himself into a corner with the football injury that Dennis sustained at the end of Part One. Though he tried many times to stick with Dennis’s perspective throughout Part Two, nothing worked. The only way for Dennis to learn what was happening was for him to learn it from visitors or television or newspapers. That isn’t very dramatic. So, he said, “To hell with it,” and switched to third-person.

I think it was the smart choice. Sticking with Dennis may have worked if Christine had remained a short story, but in a novel the reader needs action to carry them forward. The change does beg the question, however: does Dennis learn any of what we learned in Part Two? If so, how? At the beginning of the novel, Dennis’s narration is presented to us as if he were writing it all down or telling it to us directly like two friends bellied up to the bar. Part Two removes us from that intimate proximity. We get more of a bird’s eye view of Libertyville and Arnie and Christine. Can Part Two be ignored and still leave us with a satisfying story? We’d still have to learn somehow about the deaths of Moochie and Buddy and Darnell, about Arnie’s arrest, about Junkins and his investigation, but I think it could have been done. How? King used “non-fiction” asides in his first novel Carrie. I think Part Two could have been done in the same way.

Of course, who am I to second guess the King?

Moving on…

Dennis is catching up with his schoolwork when Leigh comes calling. He says that he picks up a copy of Esquire and tries to read an article entitled “The Next Vietnam” (377). Just like Dennis’s luck in reading it, I had none in finding it. The closest I came was an article by the same name written by Col. Fletcher Prouty.

Leroy Fletcher Prouty was the Chief of Special Operations for the Joint Chiefs of Staff under President John F. Kennedy. A colonel in the United States Air Force, Prouty was a critic of U.S. foreign policy, especially the covert activities of the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA). He also wrote extensively on the JFK assassination from the 1970s through 1990s. He was the inspiration for the character "X" (portrayed by Donald Sutherland) in Oliver Stone's film JFK (1991).

Prouty’s article “The Next Vietnam” was published in the September 1974 issue of men’s magazine Genesis. Somehow I don’t think Libertyville High has a subscription to that particular periodical.

If there is a reason that this chapter feels familiar, then you can probably thank the Netflix series Stranger Things. That show (especially the first season) owes a great debt to Stephen King’s work.

What we have here is the scene where separate characters come together to share information with one another. In much the same way as the kids and the adults in Stranger Things finally get their acts together long enough to exchange info, characters in many King novels do the same — the Fearless Vampire Killers in ‘Salem’s Lot, the kids (and their adult versions) in It. Here we have Dennis and Leigh finally debriefing one another about what they know and what they suspect about Christine. It’s a good scene!

One of the pieces of evidence that Dennis brings to the table is Arnie’s signature. I’ve said this before, and I’ll say it again, I don’t think the two signatures are different enough to warrant Dennis and Leigh’s “gosh wow” reaction. I do like that we get actual signatures in the book. (I always like when the typeface in books changes or we get actual handwriting added to the printed words of the story.) I just think King and Co. could have made more of an effort to make them different.

Man, I am loving these single chapter days. Makes the drive so much nicer, don’cha think, Blog-o-weeners? Before we hit the next motel, I want us to talk about one more thing: icemakers.

When Leigh goes into the kitchen to get Dennis and herself a pop, she mentions that her family, too, has an automatic icemaker in their refrigerator. Man, growing up, I was always jealous of the kids whose families had them — that and the water dispenser. Holy smoke! So cool!

Dennis mentions that sometimes the icemaker goes out of control and starts shooting cubes every which way: “It’s like Jimmy Cagney in White Heat. ‘Take that, you dirty rats!”

Who now?

Sadly, James Cagney is one of those Golden Age of Hollywood stars whose work is completely unknown to younger moviegoers. At the height of his fame in the 1930s he was probably the biggest movie star in the world. He could do it all — sing, dance, play it tough, play it soft, be dramatic, do comedy. White Heat is a film he made later in his career in 1949. In a way, he was playing a caricature of the type of gangster character he made famous at Warner Bros. in the 1930s. If you've ever heard someone yell out “Top of the world, Ma!” they are referencing the character of Cody Jarrett, the movies’ second most famous momma’s boy (behind only Norman Bates). The line that Dennis quotes is one of the lines that impressionists from Rich Little to John Byner made famous when doing a Jimmy Cagney bit. Just like Cary Grant never said “Judy, Judy, Judy,” Cagney never said “You dirty rat”… though it’s pretty close to the actual line from Taxi (1931).

Okay! We are at the motel, and I am looking forward to a hot shower and a cold beer. For tomorrow, read Part 3: Chapter 44. We’ve got more signatures to compare and contrast. We’ll discuss Shawun Cassidy, Andy Devine, and Broderick Crawford. (Boy… would those three make for a wacky sit-com!) We’ll also hear another story from LeBay and Christine’s past.

Man, celebrity impressionists were all the rage when I was growing up. People like Rich Little made a fortune pretending to be other people on TV specials and game shows and the Carson show.

When I was a kid, Robin Williams was just making a name for himself as the alien Mork from TV’s Mork and Mindy. I did a pretty mean Mork impersonation on the school playground during recess, if I do say so myself. Friends would drag me to their homes and have me do my schtick in front of their bemused (and confused) parents. Now that I think back on it, I could have passed the hat after I was done and made a little scoot for myself. Of course, it’s easy to be smart after and tell yourself that…

Blog-o-ween 2026: Playin' Chicken with Stephen King's Christine — Day 20

Part 2: Chapter 42

A winter storm blankets the Pittsburgh area. In Darnell’s garage (which has been closed down by order of the Pennsylvania State Police), Christine’s engine roars to life. Her stick shift drops into drive, and she begins to motorvate.

First stop: Don Vandenberg, one of Buddy Repperton’s gang, is working the late shift at his father’s gas station. A car stops at the pumps furthest from the station’s office. Don tramps across the lot, blinded by the wind and snow. He steps up to the car’s driver side window and freezes. The corpse of Roland D. LeBay tells him to fill ‘er up. From the back seat, Buddy Repperton leans forward and offer’s Don a swig of Texas Driver. Don screams and runs for his life… which isn’t very long.

Second stop: Will Darnell sits at home watching A Christmas Carol (the Alastair Sim version, natch). A series of blasts from a car horn bring Darnell to his front window. Christine seems to be talking to him. As Christine crashes through the snow embankment at the mouth of his driveway, Darnell tries to call Arnie to tell him to call off his dog. Nobody’s home at the Cunningham’s. Darnell attempts to call the police, but his call is cut short when Christine burst through his front window. Trying to get to the attic of his house, Darnell has a heart attack. Christine pounces.

Last stop: Darnell’s Do-It-Yourself Garage. Christine returns to her burrow to rest. It’s been a long and busy night…

Winters in Pittsburgh are usually mild. Sure, we get a major snowfall once a season, but it’s par for the course. The roads get icy, schools either delay their openings or close altogether for the day, and you stay in and watch the soaps in the afternoon. No biggie.

The storm that covers Libertyville in snow feels a little different, a little more ferocious. It sort of reminds me of the Blizzard of…

…no… lemme finish… the Blizzard of 1993.

Saturday, 13 March 1993, is a day many Pittsburghers won’t soon forget. Nearly twenty-four inches of snow fell on the city in a single day. All major roads — the Pennsylvania Turnpike and interstate highways were closed. People were urged to stay safe and stay home.

Me? I drove to work.

At that time, I was living on Mt. Washington. I did not have a phone. (What a time!) I worked at a restaurant in Robinson Township, which is on the way to the Pittsburgh Airport. With no way for me to learn that the restaurant was closed, I drove (slowly) through the maelstrom to work. When I arrived, the parking lot was empty save for several tons of untouched snow. I turned around and drove to a local Eat’n Park for dinner. As soon as my meal was served, a PA State trooper came in and announced that they were about to close I-376. I wolfed down my fish sandwich and got back into my car.

By the time I got to Mt. Washington, it was impossible to make it up the steep roads back to my apartment. (I think if I were riding in Christine, we would have made it home, no problem.) So, I carried on through the Liberty Tunnels and headed to a friend’s apartment in Shadyside. I had to force my car into a snowdrift on a side street. (And hope to God there wasn’t a car already there buried beneath the snow.) I walked through thigh-high snow banks and knocked at my friend’s door. We watched the shitshow on TV and watched people cross-country ski down Fifth Avenue from her front windows. It was a helluva good time!

Say what you want about pornography (now how’s that for a segue?!), but at least Don Vandenberg is reading, amirite?

Crazily enough, this isn’t the last time we will take a look at paperback sex books in Christine (specifically) and in King’s other work (generally). Believe it or not, I have more to say on the subject in a later post.

After disposing of Don Vandenberg like a used tissue (pun intended, I am sorry to say), Christine goes cruising through the unplowed streets of Libertyville. Her pleasure cruise begins with these words from our faithful Third-Person Narrator: “Like Gaul, all of Libertyville Heights was divided into three parts (363).

Say what now?

Commentarii de Bello Gallico (or, if aren’t up on your Classical Latin, Commentaries on the Gallic War) was written by Julius Caesar as a defense of his conquest of Gaul. Threatened with prosecution for the abuse of his authority, Caesar knew he faced the stripping of his wealth and citizenship (amongst other indignities) upon his return from the West. In order to defend himself, he knew he needed the people on his side. (The dumb, stupid, easily led by the nose people.) So, he wrote his Commentaries (in 3rd person, mind you) to show that his efforts in Gaul were totally necessary and for the further glory of Rome. His “objective” account of his time in Gaul portrayed him as a military hero and great leader. Think of it as the YouTube video of the Roman Empire.

Caesar’s Commentaries have long been a favorite of Latin classes because of their straightforward, simple prose. It begins with the frequently quoted phrase “Gallia est omnis divisa in partes tres,” meaning “Gaul is a whole divided into three parts.”

Now, what Julius Caesar is doing in Libertyville is beyond me, but I don’t fault ol’ Stevie for having a bit of fun. Lord knows I’ve dropped all sorts of literary references and song lyrics in my own writing — everything from “Subdivisions” by Rush to James Joyce’s Ulysses. I say just roll with it. I mean, at least it isn’t another reference to the Phillies, amirite?

I like that A Christmas Carol is an invisible thread connecting Arnie and Darnell. I’d like to think that Leigh and Dennis have it on in the background, too, but King doesn’t say.

It’s fitting that the most famous Christmas Ghost Story of all-time is playing as “The Ghost of Christmas Past” comes a-calling at Darnell’s house. Sadly for Darnell, I think that singing Christmas carols at his front door is the last thing Christine wants to do. Playing “The Carol of the Bells” on his head seems more of what she has in mind.

Even though we’re only dealing with a single chapter today, I think we still need to call it a night and pull over. The snow is coming down steadily and the roads are getting pretty dicey. Before we get to the motor lodge, however, I want to bring up one last reference that King makes.

I know what you are thinking: jeez, the attack on Darnell in his home has the same quality as the shark’s attack on Quint in Steven Spielberg’s Jaws (1975). Hey, why not? Jaws was a MASSIVE blockbuster hit. If King is gonna borrow from Caesar, why wouldn’t he borrow from Spielberg, as well?

Me? I’d like to think that King had another “When Animals Attack” movie on his mind during this scene. Released two years after Jaws, Orca (1977, Michael Anderson) is pure Grade-A Italian cheese from the great Dino De Laurentiis.

After watching Jaws in 1975, de Laurentiis called his writer buddy Luciano Vincenzoni in the middle of the night and told him to “find a fish tougher and more terrible than the great white.” Not knowing a darn thing about sea life, Vincenzoni’s brother Adriano (who dabbled in zoology) told him about killer whales, and a classic was born.

One of my favorite horror sub-genres is the “Jaws Rip-Off” movie. You got your classics like Orca and Barracuda (1978) and Piranha (1978). But the rip-off doesn’t stop at the water’s edge. Don’t like the ocean? Well, guess what? Filmmakers can take the basic structure of Jaws and apply it to any animal. Do you like spiders? How’s about Kingdom of the Spiders (1977)? Do you like bears? Here’s Grizzly (1976). Hell, we don’t even need a real animal. Do you dig Sasquatch? Have a Snowbeast (1977). How about a mutant-bear-thing that looks like it’s been turned inside-out? We got you covered with Prophecy (1979). They all essentially follow the Jaws story, and quite a few of them feature people in power assuring everyone that they will not close the beaches… or the ski slopes… or the lazy river… or the county fair… or…

Well, you get the idea.

Glad we finally made it to the motel. Man, I just want to crawl up on the couch with a hot toddy and watch the Penguins hockey game. While I’m relaxing and screaming at the TV, you need to read Part 3: Chapter 43. We are leaving the third-person narration behind and going back to the cozy, first-person environs of our old friend Dennis.

He’s out of the hospital now, Blog-o-weeners, though he’s still motorvating on a pair of crutches. Leigh pays him a visit at home while his parents are out. I wonder what they are going to talk about while sitting, oh, so close to one another on the couch? You don’t think Dennis would… nah… he wouldn’t do that, would he? Dennis and Leigh are about to learn a thing or two about Christine and Arnie, but I think it’s we the readers that are gonna learn a little lesson about what not to do with your best friend’s girl. Read closely, Blog-o-weeners, and pay close attention to Dennis’s actions, because…