Chicken A La King Page Four

Sam Fullbein was in a foul mood. The media had blown this whole chicken abuse incident out of proportion and now he had to deal with the Federal Animal Control Board and all of the animal rights nuts out there in the country. It was bad press for him.
Uncle Sam The Chicken Man was fifty pounds overweight, had a receding hairline and was fond of doing a comb over to hide his bald spot. He liked to wear white polyester suits and sported a gold chain and pocket watch to complete the outfit. On occasion he would sport a gold crown on his head if the occasion were important, like a store opening or photo opportunity.
Born in New Hampshire, Sam learned to cook for farm workers on his father’s farm. Betty, his mother taught him how to cook. Then his father opened a service station and he began to cook for travelers on the road. He soon became known for his cooking, opened his first restaurant at age 31, and called it Uncle Sam’s.
His mother passed down a secret recipe for his famous wings and made him promise that he would never tell anyone the ingredients.
“Sammy, come here, I want to show you something”.
“All right Maa!”
“This is our family’s secret recipe...Just watch me....”
He watched as she sprinkled salt and pepper over the wings. Then she added vegetable oil and butter, a touch of Tabasco sauce and white wine vinegar. Then she added the secret spices, which she sprinkled from a tin cup.
“These are what makes the flavor unique. Don’t ever tell anyone this recipe. Promise me Sammy.”
“I promise Ma”.
She handed him a carefully folded white piece of paper and he tucked it away in his pocket. She died a year later of cancer.
Sam had grown rich from chickens and he considered himself to be The King Of Wings, so to speak. His national chain of chicken restaurants was famous and today he was headed to the Madison Avenue advertising agency of Demato & Light to hear the newest ad campaign. Better be damn catchy or heads were going to roll.
The elevator doors opened and he walked into a marble clad reception area. The receptionist greeted him pleasantly.
“Good morning Mr. Fullbein”
“Yeah, whatever”, he mumbled.
“Mr. Demato is waiting for you in the conference room.”
Sam walked into the conference room and ten people stood up to greet him with nervous smiles on their faces.
“Please, have a seat”. Mr. Demato held out a chair for him. Mr. Demato was a pleasant looking man in his fifties with a balding head and wire rimmed glasses, wearing a black T-shirt and black pants. Sam lit up a cigar and sat back to hear the pitch. Mr. Demato started speaking.
“We understand that today’s market is a constantly shifting demographic. But since the beginning of time there has been only one important factor in increasing sales and that is the customer. Mr. Fullbein, if I may, your customers know you as The King Of Wings, is that correct?”
All eyes turned to Sam puffing on his cigar.
“Yes, that is correct.”
“And what is more important to the kingdom than the introduction of a new wing, the X-TRA Crispy Wing?”
Sam was surprised. This was something new.
“X-TRA Crispy?”
“Yes, the King of Wings has a new secret recipe and it is to make the crunchiest, crispiest wings in the kingdom. The new crispy sensation to retail for $7.99 a bucket, a breakthrough in the chicken market.”
Sam Fullbeins eyes were about to bulge out of his skull. So this was it? This is what he spent millions of advertising dollars per year on? For a bunch of Harvard flunkies to tell him to make his wings X-TRA crispy? His cell phone rang.
“Hello? Oh yeah sweetheart, I’m in a meeting, all right?
He slammed the phone shut. All eyes were on him waiting. He hesitated a moment.
“I love it!”
The room lit up in smiles. The King Of Wings was back in action! A new campaign to reach over two hundred million households in America, Sooner or later they would all be paying a visit to Uncle Sam the Chicken Man.
Mindy Fullbein shut her cell phone off. Screw him if he was in a meeting! This was important! She’d spend more of his money to show him who was boss.
Mindy was 28, a full figured brunette that Sam had hired as his personal masseuse while he was still married to Mrs. Fullbein The First. Before you knew it, she had become Mrs. Fullbein The Second. Mindy was a natural spender and couldn’t resist a sale. Diamonds, personal trainers, limousines and designer clothing were some of her favorite pastimes.
Being the wife of a chicken mogul was no easy task. It required that she be groomed and coiffed at all times in case the press, the social pages, or the paparazzi were lurking about.
She dialed her cell phone.
“Get me Mario please...”
Mario was her hairdresser and knew how to tease her wimpy bangs into submission.
“Mario, I need an appointment at 3:00 today. It’s an emergency.”
“Yes Mrs. Fullbein.”
But before seeing Mario she had to see Jason. Jason was her latest boy toy personal trainer, a tall handsome super stud on and off the weight machines. Jason did all the things Mr. Fullbein could not, for a lot of cash of course.
“Jason. I have to see you....”
“Hey Mindy, it’s cool, come on over.”
Mindy got behind the wheel of her new Mercedes and headed up Fifth Avenue. Jason lived on the upper West side in a luxurious filled with weight training gear overlooking the river.
Behind Mindy trailed Dexter Shack from the World Mag agency, the largest leading agency for gossip magazines in the country.
Mindy didn’t know she was being followed and drove straight to Jasons apartment where Dexter captured some candid shots of Jason and Mindy greeting each other passionately at the door.
“Yes!!!!” Dexter chuckled.
These shots would be headlines soon.
Chicken houses dotted the land 30 miles northeast of Batesville, Arkansas. There was a gagging stench outside the Super Chicken Ranch and Manuel Vargas looked up from his fried tortilla and cornmeal lunch.
Dust and dander was thick in the air today, he noted. How different this place was from Mexico where he grew up. Manuel was forty-five years old, his face weathered and his hands rough from a lifetime of working on farms. Sam Fullbein, the boss and owner of the land, had promoted him from ranch handler to manager of the Super Chicken Ranch.
He knew his job well and was respected by the workers who were mostly of Mexican decent. If there was one thing he knew it was chickens. His wife Rosalita worked on the farm too, mostly cooking fresh tortillas for the workers and caring for their young son Pedro.
Sam Fullbein paid him a good wage $15.50 an hour which was more than most made, most of them working for minimum wage. It was hard, grueling work and there were more than 25,000 chickens to manage.
Many of the local workers were desperate for jobs and ignored the arsenic, ammonia and other chemicals from the chickens that created health and environmental hazards on the farm.
His cell phone rang.
“Manuel? It’s Sam.”
“Hi Boss.”
“I want you to keep your eyes open for any media type people nosing around the ranch. They’re in our business again and I don’t like it.”
“Yes sir, no problem Mr. Sam”.
“Did you get that last shipment of birds out?”
慪es Boss.”
“Good job”...

He hung up and walked into one of the side barns off the Big House. The barn doors opened and a crack of sun burst in shining right on Lili and her chicks. Lili was a hen on the Super Chicken Ranch. She and her husband Ritchie had escaped the fate of The Big House and lived a very quiet and peaceful life in the back barn. Lili was a concerned mother and guarded her chicks cautiously from any danger.