Three hundred twelve preserved pairs. One converted milk truck. One man who was not going to let any of it get thrown away.
KEPT, HAULED & PERSONALLY GUARANTEED BY REGGIE OSTERHOUT — OATMAN, ARIZONA (EVENTUALLY)
“Ladies and gentlemen, I'll tell you what I tell every soul who walks up my ramp: I do not keep these for laughs and I have never kept them for money. Every jar in my truck was the beginning of a living thing. The world tossed them in the bin. I did not. That's the whole show, and it's a good one.”
Every pair rides with its ledger line — species, county, story, and the name of the fine American who couldn't throw it away either. Here's a taste. The other three hundred nine you'll have to see with your own eyes, and you will not be sorry.
My own dog. My own jar. Rode in the cab with me twelve years and the jar rides there still, on a velvet shelf I screwed in myself. Last thing loaded, first thing unloaded, every stop, no exceptions, don't ask.
Largest pair in the keeping, entrusted to me by a circus man's estate. Took a custom case, a dedicated axle, and more paperwork than my divorce. Folks drive three states to stand in front of these and I understand why.
Every season the keeping grows, and the newest jar always rides up front by the register so I can get acquainted. What is it this year? Come find the truck and I'll introduce you personal. Collector's hint: I did NOT have this species before. Yes I hollered.
I moved to Oatman for the donkeys. Saw 'em on a haul in '89 — whole herds of burros the gold miners turned loose a hundred years back, still walking down Main Street like they hold the deed. Critters the world threw away, living like kings. I bought a lot that same week. That town has been preaching my sermon since before I was born.
And that's where the Tabernacle rises: a stucco dome in the dirt outside town. Chilled reliquary hall. Copper donor wall. A reading room for the ledgers and a hitching rail out front, because the donkeys will come, and I will be ready.
Why? Friend, every creature you ever loved started with a pair like the ones in my truck. That's not crude — that's biology, and biology deserves a museum same as arrowheads and presidents. The world cuts things off and forgets 'em, in that order. I am the interruption.
— and I live in there with 'em, so you know I mean it. R.O.
Somewhere between here and Arizona there is a yellow truck full of jars, and I'm driving it. Come find me. Hear the ledger read out loud under the lights. Three dollars, same as 1997.