Masters Touch

The signal oil program? The Whistler is your signal for the signal oil program? The Whistler. I am the Whistler and I know many things for I walk by night I know many strange tales hidden in the hearts of men and women who have stepped into the shadows

Yes, I know the nameless terrors of which they dare not speak Yes friends, it's time for the Whistler. And remember, let every traffic signal remind you, with new signal gasoline you do go farther than ever.

Look for the familiar big yellow and black circle sign that identifies those popular signal service stations in seven western states from Canada to Mexico. And now the Whistler's strange story, the Master Touch. It had been twenty years since Charles Carter polished a pair of shoes.

He thought about those twenty years as he sat alone in his bedroom, working on them, sponging them off carefully with saddle soap, making sure that not a speck of the gummy red clay that cover them remain.

Red clay, sticky stubborn stuff that clung to them like glue. They were beautiful shoes, handmade, custom-built. The kind of shoes you'd expect a successful businessman like Charles to wear. He was proud of what he'd accomplished in those twenty years.

As he worked on the shoes he thought of the brutal poverty he grew up in. The resolution he made as a kid that someday he'd have more money than he could spend in a lifetime.

The way money became a god to him, pushed him up the ladder from factory worker to top executive, and left him still dissatisfied wanting more. That never mattered how he got it, so long as the money was there.