High School for the Performing and Visual Arts - Images Yearbook (Houston, TX)

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Well, old John sure didn't for- get you, said the supposed cousin, and since the wife and I have been having so much trouble lately we iust knew you'd remem- ber us in our time of need. Mr. Portal angrily hung up. Mary! he called. In here, she called back from the living room. The newly-made millionaire went to talk with her, and was greeted by a burst of flashbulbs and chorus of questions. Mr, Portal, what do you think you'Il buy first? Where is the money now? Are you going to retire? Where is your restroom? Can I use your telephone? The telephone, though, was already ringing. Mrs. Portal brushed by Mr. Portal, who was try- ing to answer everyone at once. It's for you - some woman, she reported, with a strange look on her face. HelIo? said Mr. Portal. BiII? Who is this? You know who this is, said a husky voice, and if you don't send me a million dollars everyone will know about us. Mr. Portal hung up in disgust and tramped back to the living room, taking his place beside his dazed wife. Could you iust give us a state- ment, said a network broadcaster. Mr. Portal thought a moment as the cameras whirred and clicked. I never thought it would be this much trouble to be rich, he said, and a glazed look came into his eyes. I . . . I iust wish everyone wasn't so interested all of a sudden. A technician stuck his head out the kitchen door. Mr. Portal - phone for you. Bill Portal wearily went to the phone to answer it. Mr, Portal? Yes. I guess you've been pretty excited all day. Uh. . .sure. Well, l've got some disappoint- ing news for you. Hold it. Mr. Portal shut the liv- ing room door. What is it? Well, there's been a kind of mix-up . . . the William T. Portal we were looking for lives in Chi- cago. Uh . . . I hope this isn't too hard for you. Mr. Portal listened to the cacoph- ony of reporters in the living room trying to get the furniture out of the way. A policeman was trying to get the street cleared, and his wife burst into the kitchen in tears. Listen, he said, when you call that guy, give him all my sym- pathy. And as Bill Portal went back to the living room, he didn't mean for the death of a rich cousin.

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Bill Portal, said Portal, stand- ing. Come on in. I was iust talking with this man from the paper. . Go right ahead. We'lI need time to set up. Could I get a picture with the wife and kids? asked Charlie, the photographer. Oh, gosh! cried Mr. Portal. We haven't told Bill, Jr.! I'II call the school right away, said Mrs. Portal. She tried to shut the front door, but it was blocked by a man's hand. Excuse me, she said, looking out. l'm John Carmichael from the JOURNAL, said the man standing outside. I was supposed to talk to a William Portal? Oh, come in, said Mrs. Portal. He's in the living room. Carmichael led his photographer into where Mr. Portal was. Maybe if you sat over here, one of the TV men was directing. What about MY lighting? demanded Charlie. 38 We've got enough lights, said the TV man. What do you plan to do with the money? asked reporter Ford. Well, I haven't made any defi- nite pIans, said Portal. I guess I could do about anything I wanted. The phone rang. l'Il get it, called Mrs. Portal. John Carmichael, Kirkville JOURNAL, said Carmichael, try- ing to get Portal's attention. We talked earlier. . Oh yeah, sit down, directed Portal. I was lust saying to Mr., uh, Ford that I didn't have any defi- nite plans for the money yet. . The doorbell rang, and Mr. Por- tal apologized to the two reporters, and threaded his way around an increasing pile of lights, cameras and sound equipment. Could you show us your wall plugs? asked one of the techni- cians. Sure, hang on, said Portal, and went to answer the door. Mr. Portal? said the man who was waiting outside. I'm Fred Johnson, Chicago TIMES, and I wonder if I could talk with you for a moment? 3417 Lincoln Drive was a single- story house in the middle of the block on a narrow street that was now choked with an assortment of cars, vans, trucks, and trailers. Spring flowers and thick grass alike had now been trampled by the assembly of news media now packed into the Portal home. It was 3:30, and most wives had already cleared away lunch. A fly settled on the eggs in the Portal kitchen, until he was dis- turbed by Mrs. Portal rushing to answer the phone. Hello, she said desperately, then called into Mr. Portal, Honey, it's for you! Mr. Portal got up from the dining room table, which was now blos- soming with a centerpiece of micro- phones, and came into the kitchen. Hello, he said wearily. Bill? Who IS this? I don't know any cousin John. This is cousin John.

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