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Reply to "Tell us a good story!"

As we have previously learned about our Frisco station agent Mr. Doggett, he was quite set in his ways to a point where it was easy for other people to observe.  When he walked into Josh Carter's cafe he would routinely slap a nickel down firmly on the lunch counter and growl one word, "coffee!".  When someone set the coffee before him he would snatch it up, take a healthy drink, slam it back down on the counter and scowl, "dad %$#@&, it's cold again...". This scene repeated itself most every day he walked in.  And much like Mr Doggett himself, Josh Carter had his tipping point as well, so he invented a cure for Mr Doggett's ill behavior. Minutes before it was time for Mr Doggett to come in for his harsh critique of Josh's coffee, a measure of Arbuckle was dispensed from the urn into a sauce pan and set on the stove to boil. Then a crock mug was taken from the shelf and placed into the oven to be heated up to a hellish temperature. A moment before Mr Doggett was due to walk in, Josh poured that boiling coffee into that hot-as-Hades mug, and inconspicuously using a dish towel to carry it, picked up his nickel and placed the mug in front of Mr Doggett.  As expected, Mr Doggett snatched it up and took a big slug quickly before he could actually feel it in his hand.  When the hot sensation did reach his senses he flung the mug down the counter, spewed boiling coffee all over himself, and yelled cursing, "**sputter**, Josh you son of a &%#!@, **sputter** are you trying to kill me !?!?!".  With a sideways glance, a slight grin and eyebrows raised, Josh asked with false concern, "is it hot enough for you, Mr Doggett?"
You may think these tales are a bit tall, but they did actually happened in that small Oklahoma town that truly does challenge belief.  Dad sold his nearby farm land to a cousin in 1964, changed careers,  and got us out of there before my older sisters had a chance to grow up and marry into that menagerie.  It's a twist of fate that I would wind up working for that same railroad and running trains through that same quirky town years later.  By that time the depot had been closed, and my great uncle John A. Richardson bought the building and had it moved to his farm to be used as a storage building.  As of 2019, the structure is completely gone. But not the hilarious memories.

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