Chapter two
Early Memories
W.P.A.
Last night a light dusting of snow had fallen and this morning the wind swept it downhill. Up on top of the hill where the road curved to the right out of Evansville our white water tower stood on its tall legs. The blowing snow seemed to come through those tall iron legs and scoot along the ground in white waves just like the wind pushes snow across Lake Pelican's silver-looking ice. It was as if the water tower stood and directed the snow down our hill, down Main Street.
In the wind and blowing snow hard swung picks thumped and chopped at the cold hard ground and shovels scooped chunks of frozen earth. Dirt and snow flew up into the cold crisp air that made our overshoe soles squeak and crunch as we, my sister Harriet and I, walked toward a long shoulder-deep trench. We watched the men that were digging a trench down the hill in the middle of the gravel street. Dad said it was for a sewer pipe. I was big for my age, everyone said, but a sewer did not mean much to a mind that would be four in the spring. All I knew was that each time we came to see Dad in his barbershop the trench was further down the hill. We stopped not far from the end of the trench; I marveled at the dirt flying from shovels and swinging picks.
Sis whispered, "There must be a hundred men." Now Sis was six going on seven in May and even though she was small for her age, Harriet knew about thing like big numbers over ten and shades of colors.
I knew the number of men was bigger than the ten that I could proudly count out on my fingers, but then all numbers beside the first ten were big. My mind could not grasp that all the men working in the trench were a hundred. She could just as well have said ten million.
Sis, the only girl in a family of four boys, and I had walked holding hands from the island, a piece of land surrounded by a slough. We crossed the tracks between the Co-op, our local creamery, and the Scrap Yard that bought and sold metals. Mom had given us a penny to buy candy at the Grocery Store and then go next door to see Dad at the Barber Shop. However, we stopped in the cold wind and blowing snow to watch men working down in that trench, and our pause interrupted our urgent journey for sweets. We stood with caps pulled down and cold faces watching all bundled up in winter coats, warm mittens that Mom made, black rubber overshoes, and woolen scarves around our necks.
Just as Sis tugged on my hand to go on, a man with brown mustache with steamy breath stepped out the trench. He had on a long black coat and a black cap with the ear flaps down. His arms pounded his body in a crisscross manner to keep out the cold as his eyes moved up and down the trench. After a good long look his head nodded several times before he yelled, "Time." Quickly after his yell, he turned to walk away from the trench. Behind him, all the shovels and picks quickly were lying on the edge of the trench as cold men boiled up out of it. Everyone walked quickly right and left into warm store buildings along Main Street. With all the men up and moving I had my first understanding of how big a hundred was. In a minute or two, they were all gone and the street was empty, except for Sis and me.
Sis pulled on my hand and we walked closer to look down into the trench. We looked down into a long deep trench almost as tall as a man's head in some places. Sis shook her hand free of mine, stepped forward to pick up a reddish streaked gray pebble, and as she bent over to pick up her pretty rock her feet slipped in the gravel. My Sis sat down hard at the edge of the trench, slid down the tapered end, and dropped down into the bottom of the trench. While she was picking herself up and thinking about trying to climb back out, the man with a brown mustache came rushing out, hot breath puffing like the train did.
He jumped into the trench and lifted Sis up out of the trench. As he set her down on the ground, he smiled and told her, "Young Lady, don't get too close. Don't want you to get hurt. Okay?"
Sis moved her head up and down in agreement.
Then, the man turned to me with a stern look in his eye, grabbed my shoulder roughly, twirled me around, and swatted my backside one good swat. I almost lost my footing in my surprise for I was too bundled-up to be hurt by a swat. He put his puffing mustache face down close to mine. I could smell tobacco and knew the man had been smoking. Harshly he spoke.
"Boy, you look after your little sister. Keep her out of trouble. A man's got to look after the little ones. Okay." He put Sis's mitten in my hand.
Now it was my turn to nod my head for I'd been taught not to argue with older sisters, brothers, and adults. We stood in shock over what had happened for a moment or two before walking toward the Crawford grocery store. When we were safely away from the trench the man walked back to his warm place.
Inside the store I tried to get Sis to buy eight root beer barrels for a penny, they were my favorite. But, she bought two red suckers. Mr. Crawford smiled warmly as he reached in and took out two red suckers from the big glass jar. Sis put the penny in his hand and he put the suckers in hers. Sis handed me my sucker and as I sucked on mine she told me, "Cherry."
But I wasn't thinking about the flavor of the sucker, but of the man with the mustache that thought I was older than my sister. It was the first time I'd realized that people looked at children by size-not age. I was taller so I was older the man reasoned. Yet, even though Sis's head only came up to my shoulder she was three years older. It seemed unfair to me that grown-ups do that as I followed Sis out the door that Mr. Crawford opened for us.
We walked down Main Street on the shoveled and swept concrete sidewalk trying not to step on the lines or cracks. My two older brothers said you would get a broken back if you stepped on a line or crack, and we did not want that.
Inside the Barbershop Sis got a hug from Dad and I got a handshake. He lifted us up in two of the chairs along the wall and went back to sit on the window seat to play his cribbage game. Two men were busy playing checkers. One man was in Dad's second barber chair leaned back resting. Another sat along the wall reading the newspaper. Dad's backroom had the two pool tables. From the doorway came noise of people talking and the click of pool balls. I liked watching people in the shop and smelling the scents of tonics and soaps.
Before I got tired of looking one of the men playing checkers said loudly, "It's time." He pulled his cap's earflaps down over his head and pushed his hands into his gloves as men came walking out of the backroom. Quickly, a line of men moved through the door toward the trench and looking out the window I saw men coming out all the buildings.
A minute or two after they were gone one of us must have squirmed. Dad lifted us down from the chairs and opened the front door for us. As we walked back home holding a sucker stick and each other's hand, we stopped at the corner for a last look. We looked again at the chopping picks and scooping shovels slinging chunks of dirt up into the blowing snow.
Adscript: I learned that day that adults make judgments sometimes without all the information or all the correct information. That day I learned that all adult decisions are not correct. Also, I learned that people judge a child's age by that child's size which allows the smaller ones to often escape proper correction. However, I think then and now that being taller have let me do some things I would not have been able to do at such a young age, and the smaller ones might escape punishment but often ran into more handicaps by being held back.
Odd ends Page 18