Letter from Yesterday

That whistle is your signal for the Signal Oil program, the Whistler, rated tops in popularity for a longer period of time than any other West Coast program. And Signal gasoline is tops too, tops in quality.

It takes extra quality, you know, to give you extra mileage. And Signal is the famous Go farther gasoline, available wherever you see the Signal Circle sign in yellow and black that identifies independent signal dealers from Canada to Mexico.

I'm the Whistler, and I know many things before I walk by night. I know many strange tales, hidden in the hearts of men and women who have stepped into the shadow of it. Yes, I know the nameless terrors of which they dare not speak. And now the Whistler Strange story, letter from yesterday.

Sitting by the window of the streamliner as it sped through the night toward Los Angeles, Arthur Wilson seemed like any average middle-aged businessman. But there had been a time when Arthur Wilson was something else, somebody else, Jack Foley.

And though it had been 25 years ago, Jack Foley, now Arthur Wilson would never forget it. The plaintiff wail of the train whistled, rifting back at him now. Somehow, recalled that other time and place.

Exactly as if it were now. This moment. Perhaps it was because another whistle had marked the time when it all began. The night that Jack Foley was given a chance to reach out, to grasp a new life.

That night, 25 years ago, in a prison machine shop. Guys, clean up the shop, right? Well, Dave, that about does it. This truck's practically got a new motor in it. Yeah, she's in fine shape, Foley.