by Todd Daley
Turning back to the class, Tom asked, “Does anyone know the law of conservation of energy?”
“Energy can neither be created nor destroyed. But it can be converted to different forms,” Wendy answered.
“Wow! That girl has smarts,” Barry said sarcastically.
“It’s called homework. Try it and you’ll be surprised at how much you can learn,” Tom chided the loquacious teenager.
“Book smarts is all right. But street smarts is better,” the youngster replied.
“How about common sense? That trumps everything,” someone called out from the back of the room.
“I can’t argue with that,” the skinny young science teacher responded as the bell rang, ending the hard wrought lesson on energy.
CHAPTER 7
Fallen Angel
Tom went for a walk down Morningstar Road on an unusually mild day in early December. Turning west on Richmond Terrace, the skinny science teacher ambled toward the abandoned Bethlehem Steel shipyard, with its rotting docks, corroded hulks, and derelict ships. Approaching the ramshackle tugboat, Tom noticed Amon perched near the top of a utility pole, working on some wires. Stopping in midstride, he realized that those wires carried high voltage.
Suddenly there was a bright spark accompanied by a crackling noise, and Amon was catapulted off the pole. He fell down hard, crashing on the rotting wharf. Tom ran over to him. Amon was stunned but conscious.
“Are you okay? Don’t move! You might have cracked some vertebrae.”
“I’m fine,” Amon replied, grimacing. “This wharf is soft from dry rot. And I have backup.” He showed the young science teacher a greenish metallic cross hanging from his neck on a chain of the same hue.
“That cross is made of copper, actually corroded copper—called verdigris. The Statue of Liberty, as well as the roof of Curtis High School, are made of the same metal. The cross must be very old,” said Tom, looking at it closely.
“I found it on that ship over there.” Amon pointed to an old freighter some distance away.
After emerging from his tugboat with a pair of rubber gloves, Amon remounted the pole and finished connecting the utility lines to a second wire running to his boat.
“So you believe in good luck charms,” Tom said, concealing a smirk.
“I believe in electricity. But divine grace is essential also. The latter is a blessing, as well as an obligation, which I intend to fulfill,” he stated bluntly.
“Aha! You are a man of God after all,” Tom replied, scrutinizing Amon.
“Sure. This is my congregation. I preach to the fishes, the clams, the oysters, and the squid. And this guy over there,” he replied, pointing to a small pig.
“Well, St. Francis of Assisi preached to animals, as well as people. The godly are always looking to expand their flock. We had pigs when I was a kid. Sometimes they’d get out of their pigpen. It was a good excuse for being late to school,” Tom reminisced.
“It’s tough trying to get people to mend their ways—let the ambitious expand their flock,”’ Amon replied.
“Contrary to America’s drive for supremacy, bigger is not always better. Remember the huge dinosaurs of days gone by?”
They’re not around anymore,” Amon responded.
“Scientists believe they were wiped by the Ice Age. And mankind may undergo a similar fate because of environmental pollution,” the science teacher replied.
“So you once raised pigs? You’re an interesting guy … though a bit weird,” Amon remarked with a rare smile.
“That aspect we have in common,” the skinny science teacher replied.
George Wallace
George Wallace was known for his segregationist policies in the South during the 1960s and 1970s. Wallace’s position opposing racial integration was epitomized by his infamous statement, “I draw a line in the dust and toss the gauntlet before the face of tyranny. And I say segregation now, segregation tomorrow, and segregation forever.”
George Wallace was born in rural southeastern Alabama in 1919. Though his parents were dirt-poor farmers, Wallace was interested in politics from an early age. Wallace tried boxing as a teenager and became adept at the sport. In 1937, Wallace went directly to law school from high school. After receiving his law degree in 1942, George Wallace joined the Army Air Corps, flying B-29 combat missions against Japan during World War II.
In 1946, George Wallace was elected to the Alabama legislature as a racial moderate. In 1948, Wallace supported Harry Truman for president, despite his opposition to the latter’s civil rights program. Wallace held the Southern point of view that racial segregation was a matter of states’ rights. In 1952, Wallace was elected circuit judge of the Third Judicial Circuit Court of Alabama. He gained a reputation for fairness and integrity, treating white and black lawyers with equal respect. Nonetheless, George Wallace opposed the removal of “whites only” signs in railroad stations and blocked federal efforts to review local voting lists, where discrimination was evident.
In 1962, George Wallace was elected governor of Alabama as a segregationist, winning 96 percent of the vote. He was sworn in on the same spot where Jefferson Davis became president of the Confederacy in 1861. This was the occasion of Wallace’s statement vowing to maintain segregation in Alabama forever. In 1963, President Kennedy sent federal troops to Tuscaloosa to enforce integration of the University of Alabama. George Wallace stood in the college’s front door in a vain attempt to stop the federal order. Later on, Wallace tried to prevent the integration of elementary schools in Huntsville and was overruled by the federal courts.
In 1964, George Wallace ran for president on a platform of opposition to racial integration, plus a tough approach toward street crime. His stump speech included rabble-rousing remarks about pinkos protesting the Vietnam War and outside agitators forcing racial mixing. In 1968, Wallace ran a second time for president on a different platform of ending the Vietnam War within ninety days. With regard to domestic issues, George Wallace favored increasing Social Security and Medicare benefits. However, his racial policies continued to oppose what he referred to as “forced integration.”
In 1972, George Wallace ran for president a third time—advocating a moderate approach to racial matters, although he opposed busing to integrate public schools. In the midst of the campaign, Wallace was shot five times, with one bullet penetrating his spinal column. For the remainder of his life, George Wallace was paralyzed from the waist down. In his final term as Alabama governor, Wallace made a record number of black appointments to state jobs, including two black members of his cabinet. Unapologetic about his race baiting in the 1960s and 1970s, George Wallace asserted that he had evolved politically in the area of civil rights. Wallace’s record of four gubernatorial terms across three decades was a national record. For better or worse, George Wallace had an enormous impact on America’s racial politics during the twentieth century.
CHAPTER 8
Big Boned Girl
Tom sat down on a stool in the dimly lit, sour-sweet–smelling Kaffman’s bar, drinking a locally brewed Ballantine beer. As usual, the first one was on the house. Rudy Kaffman’s generosity was in memory of his father, Thomas Haley, who had regularly spent a good chunk of his house painter’s salary in this neighborhood bar—one of many dotting Staten Island’s North Shore. The hazy old saloon was jammed with customers celebrating the upcoming Christmas holiday, which was scarcely a month away. Journeymen alcoholics use any excuse to imbibe, and Christmas was as good as any.
Tom was anticipating the arrival of his girlfriend, Martha, to Kaffman’s. On Friday nights, they met for a few drinks at Kaffman’s or K. C.’s before doing some bowling in Port Richmond. The place was a shabby bowling alley, called Gooley’s, on Richmond Terrace, a few doors from the seedy cockroach-infested Empire Theater, which regularly showed X-rated foreign films. Unable to convince Martha to see these movies, Tom occasi
onally saw these avant-garde films himself on a weekday night, clad in a soiled old raincoat.
The skinny young science teacher mused over the ups and downs of his teaching week at Curtis High School. There had been no fights or flare-ups, and his lessons on household chemicals, electricity, and energy went over reasonably well for this time of the year—the lead-up to the Christmas break. Tom put a lot of effort into his planning, especially the initial classroom experiment, as well as the following material. He had learned through bitter experience to fill up every moment of the lesson with information, concepts, and principles.
His students may not have appreciated it, but they regularly left his class with something concrete to take away—the vital material required for everyday life. It could be said that, as a teacher, Tom was a putter-inner and not a taker-outer. However, these post–Aquarian Age kids were tough customers. They had little intrinsic interest in learning for its own sake. Their focus appeared to reside in the realm of money and material things.
Fortunately the torturous American–North Vietnamese negotiations, orchestrated by Henry Kissinger, were bringing the seventeen-year-long Vietnam War to an end. For many young men of Tom’s generation, it was a light at the end of a long winding tunnel. Even ex–Cold War warrior Richard Nixon was ready to accept a stalemate after his brutal bombing campaign against North Vietnam and the Ho Chi Minh trail—running though Laos and Cambodia—had not driven the Viet Cong into submission. Reportedly, Nixon had admitted to Mr. Kissinger that his bombing had accomplished “zilch.”
Unlike many of his peers who went into teaching only to avoid the draft, Tom opted to continue teaching science for the foreseeable future. He was basically a creature of habit. Resisting his mom’s prodding, Tom decided to forsake the business world, with its promise of big bucks and golden parachutes. A young man of modest needs and dogged endurance, Tom accepted the bumps and bruises, the mediocre salary, and the lack of future advancement, for the elusive joys of the classroom. Of course, teaching had its consolations—Christmas and Easter breaks, plus the cherished ten-week summer vacation.
Tom’s rambling thoughts were interrupted by the breezy entrance of his girlfriend, Martha, into the dingy bar. Tall, big-boned, bouncy, and upbeat, Martha had a way of stirring things up wherever she went in life. Tom ordered his girlfriend some white wine and himself another Ballantine beer.
“Don’t look so glum, Tom. It’s Friday, thank God!” she exclaimed, plopping her voluminous but shapely derriere on the stool and grabbing Tom in a tight bear hug with kisses that left him breathless. Years ago his mother, aka Little Mommy, would grasp him and his sister, Cara, in a similar vice-like hug that rendered the two of them dizzy and out of breath.
Kissing the tall, pretty brunette on the forehead, nose, and lips, Tom said, “I just realized I’m a veteran teacher with two and a half years’ experience under my belt. You could say that I’m locked into teaching for life. I’ll be doing this for the next fifty years!”
“God willing. And what’s so terrible about teaching? At least you earn a decent salary. Try working for the Staten Island Diocese,” she responded.
“No, thanks. I’m not into vows of poverty and chastity. As St. Augustine said, Lord give me chastity but not yet,” he remarked.
“You’re just a spoiled naughty boy who needs a good spanking,” she exclaimed.
“I’ll settle for that—as long as I can reciprocate,” he replied, smirking.
She shoved the skinny science teacher playfully, and Tom would have lost his balance had Martha not grabbed him with her strong arms. Dating Martha—a veritable Amazon who often whipped him at bowling, ping-pong, and basketball—was physically demanding. Upon consummating their union, she would denote her satisfaction by slapping him smartly in the face.
“But my favorite saint was Saint Teresa, who used to beat herself with a wooden stick so she could have visions of Jesus Christ,” he said.
“For someone who never enters a church, you know a lot about the saints. That’s what you need—a good beating with a stick,” she asserted angrily, downing her wine in a few gulps.
“With regard to chastity, Tom, a girl like me does not relinquish that particular vow lightly. And the time is fast approaching when you will be obliged to make me an honorable woman. Beneath all that 1960s idealism, you’re a selfish, immature boy,” she retorted angrily.
“Stop fretting. You do remind me of Saint Teresa, who said, ‘Let me suffer or let me die.’ I am not selfish. I’m generous with my affection,” he said, turning to Rudy, and ordered another round of drinks.
There ensued an awkward silence between the two lovers as each stared bleakly into their respective glasses, allowing the din of the crowded bar to mask their isolation. Looking up momentarily, Tom did a double take as he saw a familiar face approaching. It was a face from the past—Jake Gardello, his old girlfriend’s cousin.
“Tom, can I talk to you for a few seconds?” Jake inquired in an undertone.
Turning red, the skinny science teacher nodded, got up, and followed the husky young man out of Kaffman’s bar onto the chilly sidewalk.
“Joanie’s back on Staten Island. She’s in St. Vincent’s Hospital. There’s a tumor in her brain, and it’s affecting her sight,” Jake stated hurriedly.
“What? A brain tumor? Oh my God!” Tom replied breathlessly.
“I need to tell you she’s married now. But she wants to see you, Tom. So don’t say anything stupid, and don’t upset her!”
“Of course not. I’ll respect the sensibilities of everyone,” Tom replied quietly.
“Good. You were always a classy guy. Visiting hours are from 4:00 to 8:00 p.m. Here’s the room number,” Jake said, handing the young teacher a small piece of paper, which Tom folded carefully and put in his wallet.
Returning to his stool at Kaffman’s, Tom could see that Martha was furious.
“I know who that guy is. He’s Joanie’s cousin. If you start seeing her, we’re finished,” she asserted, getting up from her stool.
“Martha, the girl has a brain tumor. Have a heart!” he replied, near tears.
CHAPTER 9
Pretty Invalid
Except for the lost weight, pale skin, and close-cropped hair, Joanie looked pretty good to Tom. Her big brown eyes, full red lips, and warm smile tugged at the skinny teacher’s heart, as always. Happy to see Joanie after more than two years, Tom struggled to keep his emotions in check.
“Oh, Tom! It’s actually you. It’s so nice of you to visit me … a twenty-two-year-old invalid.”
“Joanie, you’re not an invalid. Before you know it, you’ll be up and out of here,” he replied optimistically.
“Come over here, Mr. Teacher Man, and give me a hug and a kiss,” she demanded.
Tom did so readily, observing with apprehension that his old girlfriend appeared frail and fatigued.
“It’s wonderful to see you, Joanie, after so many years. You look good. Just do whatever the doctors tell you,” he remarked, trying to mask his concern.
“Of course I cooperate, but it’s kind of annoying. They’re always examining me every day—X-rays, brain scans, electrodes on my scalp, poking and prodding me every which way,” she said stoically.
“What happened to you? How did it all start?” he questioned in a faltering voice.
“I began getting severe headaches. Then my vision was affected—fuzzy and double images,” she revealed.
“I’m sure the doctors will get to the bottom of it. They can do so much nowadays. Medical science has advanced significantly in the past few years,” Tom commented.
“Thanks to science teachers like you. How is your teaching going?”
“It’s not bad. It took a while, but I’ve learned how to keep my students under control … for the most part. The secret is to keep them busy. Work their little their butts off,” he asserted.
“Nah. She felt sorry for me because the kids gave me a hard time. Once, she popped me in the nose, giving me a nosebleed, when I pulled her off a classmate,” Tom mentioned.
“You were always getting nosebleeds. You’re just a softy. Which is why I liked you from the start. Do you still have that old red bike?” she said.
Nodding and shrugging his shoulder, Tom asked Joanie how she liked Indiana.
“It’s nice. But I miss Staten Island. I have a good life in Indiana. My husband, Joe, is a lawyer. He is very ambitious. He works long hours, trying to get ahead,” she said, as if reading from a script.
At this point, a nurse entered the room and began examining the pretty, young patient. The nurse, a stern middle-aged woman, told Tom that he had to leave because Joanie was being brought to another floor for further tests. Tom gave his ex-girlfriend a kiss on the cheek and left the room hastily, trying to hold his feelings in check. He understood that the major events in life—illness, birth, death, and love—are inextricably linked on an emotional level.
CHAPTER 10
A Stray Cat
Tom walked westward along Richmond Terrace on another mild Saturday in December. He noticed a red sedan parked near the old Bethlehem Steel shipyard, where Amon had made his home. Hurrying over to the site, Tom saw Amon bent over a black cat on the sidewalk with a chubby, middle-aged woman watching the proceedings with concern.