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But about those overalls: Windsor, 275 Ibs., claims he once owned a business suit but split it while praying in church some years ago. He had to get a special dispensation from the state legislature to wear his overalls in the house and the senate, and here he can be seen this time of year, prowling the corridors with a compass dangling from his neck. "There's no sun in the legislature," he explains. "You can't tell where you're going." In this state, as in so many others, the old majestic capitol building has been abandoned by the legislature for a new seat of government that does not suggest democracy so much as cubism. Thus the compass may sound loony but is, in fact, practical.
Other important tools of his trade can be found in a sagging pocket. There repose a barlow knife and a buck knife for whittling when somebody makes him wait and a hard Arkansas whetstone for sharpening when somebody makes him wait longer. When the subject of an interview at last gives him an audience, Windsor puts away his knives, and when the subject says something that impresses this porcine correspondent, Windsor has been known to gush, "God bless your old heart!"
He whittles chains, swords, canes and slingshots, and claims in the doing that it puts his mind to rest. In his office recently he was asked what one does with a 10-ft.-long wooden chain, and Windsor said, "Hang it on the wall, of course." About that time Windsor's assistant and chief ad salesman, Billy Arthur Jr., who is 3 ft. tall, walked in. The editor introduced him as a reprobate and a womanizer but said he was a genius. "This boy can make a bomb out of anything," Windsor said. Billy Arthur Jr. was then asked what was the point of his bombs, and he said, "To make a big noise, of course." Anyone within earshot who possessed common sense then gazed heavenward, anticipating a collapsing Taurus.
The Landmark itself can make a reader feel beaned, but on a good day, amid its political ravings, and there are plenty of those, all conservative, it can lift the spirits, make you pause to hear the birds. Take, for example, "My Dog Squirt Is Home," the tale of a beagle hound that had been missing five months, only to turn up again.
"Don't tell me stories do not have happy endings," Windsor wrote. "I do not know who has cared for my dog during the time he has been gone, but I am eternally indebted to them and thank them. If I can find out who it was I will be glad to pay them, but I suspect they are just some fine people who would care for an animal or a person who was in need. Whoever you are, I love you."
Windsor shows his heart when he writes this way. As for his head, he says, "The Lord must have vaccinated me with a Victrola needle. You won't never get me to stop talking.''
—By Gregory Jaynes