by Todd Daley
Four Bee Gees songs from that popular movie—“Stayin’ Alive,” “Night Fever,” “How Deep Is Your Love,” and “More Than a Woman”—reached the pinnacle of American and British charts in 1978. They also wrote “If I Can’t Have You”—a song by Yvonne Elliman—which became a number-one hit in the United States. Only the Beatles, way back in 1964, had achieved such record chart dominance as the Bee Gees attained in the year 1978.
The Bee Gees have earned a high place in the rock-and-roll and disco legacy. John Lennon praised them for their groundbreaking songs in the 1970s: “They do a damn good job. There was nothing else going on then.” Michael Jackson, who was influenced by the Bee Gees, said, “I cried listening to their music.” The consensus of people in pop music was that the Bee Gees were not only brilliant artists but really nice people—minus the big egos that haunt pop stars. Some of the lyrics from their hits are haunting: “You are the reason for my laughter and my sorrow, blow out the candle and I will burn again tomorrow,” and “We’re living in a world of fools, breaking us down, when they all should let us be.”
CHAPTER 53
Marx vs. Keynes
Walking into Curtis High School’s main entrance, Tom noticed that the limestone gargoyles appeared more gruesome than ever. Maybe the bitter January weather had gotten to those formidable creatures, changing their homely smiles to horrible grimaces. Punching his card in the time clock, the skinny science teacher noticed that the holiday holly and mistletoe had been removed. Right in front of Tom was the notorious Rosie Murray, dressed in a tight skirt that showed her voluminous ass to maximum advantage.
“Oh, Mr. Haley. I never got the chance to thank you for covering my classes when I came down with a cold before the holidays,” she said in a bubbly manner, adjusting her snug-fitting skirt.
“No problem. My name is Tom, by the way.”
“And I’m Rosie—short for Rosemary. Actually, I need a coverage today because of some personal business I have to take care of.”
“No problem. Our aim at Curtis is to please.”
“I have the notes here. We’re covering micro- and macroeconomics,” she said, dropping the notes and bending down to pick them up. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
“You did that already,” Tom exclaimed, getting an eyeful of her wonderful derriere.
Walking into Mrs. Murray’s economics class, Tom had doubts about how he would teach such a dry subject. Stopping off at the social studies department office, he managed to get glossy pictures of Karl Marx and John Maynard Keynes. As with his previous coverage of her classes, Tom was greeted with a chorus of boos. Some of the students demanded a free period, which the skinny teacher rejected. Say what they might about the young science teacher, he always taught something whenever he entered a classroom. Lou Stout’s dictum resonated with Tom: “Keep them busy, or they’ll fry you for lunch.”
Posting the pictures of the two famous economists on the blackboard, Tom asked the students to identify the two men.
“They look like serial killers, especially the old guy with the beard,” Manny called out from the back of the room.
“The man on the left is Karl Marx, and the other one is John Maynard Keynes,” answered Riner, who was studious and serious.
“That’s correct. Can anyone tell the class what the bearded man is known for?”
Again, Riner raised his hand. “He formulated the theory of communism, in which the state owns the natural resources and the factories. There would be no private property and only one class—the proletariat, or workers.”
“Excellent, Riner,” said Tom, looking at Mrs. Murray’s notes. “Marx also said that surplus value is built into the price of goods, which represent the capitalist’s profit. And the conflict between the capitalists and workers will result in victory by the latter—known as class warfare.”
“If that’s so, why do the Russians and Chinese live in mud huts no better than pigpens?” asked Marty, a student whom Tom didn’t know.
“That’s because Marxism looks good in theory, but in practice it doesn’t work,” said Wendy.
“Don’t get me wrong. But the idea of a classless society isn’t so bad. If everybody had the same stuff, there would be no crime,” said Barry, an outspoken teenager whose clowning hid a good mind.
“If everyone was exactly the same, it would be kind of boring,” commented Lora, jangling her bracelets.
“You can say that again. Imagine if every girl went around with those dumb copper bracelets and anklets. Why don’t you wear one of them on your neck, like a dog collar?”
“Go fuck—I mean shut up! Who asked you for your opinion?” she replied angrily, fiddling with her bracelets.
“Did you hear that, Mr. Haley? Send her to the dean,” Barry demanded half-seriously.
“What about the other economist, John Maynard Keynes?”
“He said countries should borrow money during recessions to put more money into circulation. This stimulates demand so consumers can buy goods and put workers back to work in factories,” Riner replied.
Checking Mrs. Murray’s notes, Tom concurred. “Keynes believed that governments must change their taxing and spending policies to modify the boom-and-bust fluctuations of the business cycle.”
“The problem with Keynesian economics is that many governments run bigger and bigger deficits that are never paid off. America now has a $10 billion deficit, which grows every year,” said Marty, who seemed to be into these arcane subjects.
Perusing Mrs. Murray’s notes, Tom stated that the English economist (Keynes) had many supporters in the US government, “which routinely runs deficits during good and bad economic times, and during wars.”
“Yeah. LBJ used to talk about not having enough money for guns and butter,” commented Marty, who was well-informed about politics.
“John Keynes was opposed to the gold standard. What is the gold standard?”
“That’s where money is backed by its equivalent value in gold,” Wendy replied.
“America’s gold is stored in Fort Knox. That would be a bank heist to die for, busting into that place,” Barry replied with a sly grin.
Checking Rosie Murray’s notes one more time, Tom asked the class to define “usury,” which was unknown to them. “‘Usury’ is charging of interest for loans. The Jesuits opposed this practice during the Middle Ages, but it’s basic to banking throughout the world.”
“Why should you pay interest for a loan? That sucks!” Barry retorted.
With time running out, Tom went over key economic concepts listed in Mrs. Murray’s notes, which he wrote on the board for the students to copy into their notebooks.
Microeconomics: the pricing of goods and services under the market forces of supply and demand.
Macroeconomics: the behavior of national economies with respect to prices, employment, consumption, savings, and output.
Gross National Product: market value of all goods and services produced by a country in a given year.
Aggregate Demand: the total demand for goods and services by an economy in a given year.
Business Cycle: the boom-and-bust cycle of the economy caused by changes in aggregate demand.
Tom’s timing was good, and the students had finished transcribing the economic terms when the bell sounded, ending the lesson. Despite its label as “the dismal science,” the economics lesson was not too boring. The skinny teacher realized the antics of his students, far from being an encumbrance, added spark to what would have been a dull lesson.
As Tom took down the posters of Karl Marx and John Maynard Keynes, Lora approached him. “I’m sorry for cursing at Barry, but he is so obnoxious, I can’t help it, Mr. Haley.”
“It’s fine. That’s just his way. That’s the way boys are. They call attention to themselves by being provocative.”
“Sometimes I wish they would jus
t leave me alone,” Lora said sadly.
“I hear you. But being left alone can be as vexing as being annoyed by one’s classmates,” he replied in a consoling manner.
“What about you? Do you have a girlfriend?” she asked abruptly.
Caught off balance, the young science teacher stammered, “Ah … not at the moment.”
CHAPTER 54
Dalton Trumbo
One Saturday night with nothing to do, Tom stopped over to see Amon and Mary in their refurbished tugboat. The two were finishing a dinner of fried fish caught in the gray choppy waters of the Kill Van Kull. Tom suggested he treat the two of them to a movie at the Ritz Theater in Port Richmond.
“What’s playing? I’m in the mood for something light. The residents in the Simonson Avenue house have been bickering about everything,” Amon replied.
“He’s too easygoing. There are some troublemakers—alcoholics, drug addicts, and thieves—who should be tossed out,” Mary complained.
“Mary, I’m not going to put anyone on the street, especially in the middle of winter. No matter how desperate and lost a person is, there’s always hope of redemption.”
“Amon believes there’s an inner core of goodness in everyone. I’m not convinced of this universal goodness trait,” the parochial school teacher remarked.
Responding diplomatically, Tom said he wasn’t sure about the universality of goodness in human nature but asserted that most people had positive impulses. The skinny science teacher mentioned a new film with an antiwar message, called Johnny Got His Gun, which he wanted to see.
His two friends looked at each other and shrugged. “Why not?”
Amon said, “It will get my mind off all the bullshit that’s going on around here.”
“I couldn’t have said it better myself,” Tom replied as the three young people walked in the snow toward his old gray 1964 Pontiac.
The movie, shown at the Ritz Theater, told the story of a young American who is called upon to serve in Europe during the First World War. Severely wounded by an artillery shell, the soldier has lost his arms and legs, as well as his facial features—eyes, ears, teeth, and tongue—in the blast. The young man is unable to commit suicide and must endure a tortured existence. Alternating between consciousness and unconsciousness, reality and fantasy, and thoughts of his early life and his teenage sweetheart, the wounded soldier is trapped in a semicomatose state.
The only comfort the young man receives is from a dedicated nurse who strokes his forehead and is distressed by his suffering. At one point she tries to end his suffering by clamping his breathing tube but is prevented by a superior. The soldier’s wish to be placed in a glass coffin as a grim warning of the horrors of war is also denied. Consequently, the young man is confined in an immobile state—paralyzed, helpless, and alone—trapped by his melancholy thoughts.
As the threesome walked down Richmond Avenue in a somber mood, Tom asked Amon if he still was convinced about the fundamental goodness of human nature. “There have been two bloody world wars in the twentieth century, plus numerous limited wars like Korea and Vietnam, causing the deaths of millions of soldiers and civilians alike.”
“This movie presents a different picture of war. I often wonder about my own students at St. Mary’s. Will one of them be drafted in a future war and have his life cut short?” Mary replied.
“People want to live in peace and do the ordinary things of life. It’s greed, fear, prejudice, and crooked politicians that drive men to fight wars. It’s the screwed-up world we live in that corrupt us, turning folks away from their good instincts. I was drafted to fight in Vietnam without anyone asking me about my opinions,” Amon related.
“The Vietnam War drove me into teaching, which actually turned out to be a good thing. Who knows what I could have become otherwise,” Tom said.
“Yeah. You might have become a wealthy businessmen,” Amon commented.
“On the contrary, knowing your honest inclinations, you probably would have gone bankrupt,” Mary asserted.
“I’ve been blessed, surviving that war unscathed. I could have wound up like that soldier in that Dalton Trumbo movie. And it’s one of the reasons I try to do some good in the world,” Amon declared.
“Trumbo never actually fought in World War I, but his grasp of the horrors of war were uncanny. He was blacklisted in the 1950s for refusing to reveal other other members of the Communist Party,” Tom said.
“I wasn’t aware of that situation. I thought there was freedom of speech and freedom of association in this country,” Amon responded.
“Well, there is … except for the Cold War era during the fifties. Trumbo asserted that the artist speaks the truth that no one else can speak. And everyone loses when the artist is suppressed,” Tom replied.
“So freedom of speech is not paramount in this country?” Amon inquired.
“In America, we are absolutely free to sink or swim,” Tom responded grimly.
CHAPTER 55
Harry the Horse
As the three young people meandered along Richmond Avenue, Tom asserted that science and art are related in that “both represent a search for truth by different means.”
“Speaking of art, that yonder house is a work of art,” said Amon, pointing to an old colonial-style house, which was situated between a three-story brick apartment building and an abandoned factory.
“It looks like it goes back to the early twentieth century. Kind of reminds me of my mom’s stucco house on Pulaski Avenue.”
Suddenly, there was a loud snap, followed by an awful sound of wood tearing. Then the sound of a man wailing emanated from within the house. Before Tom and Mary could react to the situation, Amon dashed into the house, heading for the ground floor. Upon arriving at the scene, Tom saw Amon struggling to lift a heavy wooden beam, under which a workman was trapped.
“Tom, help me lift this beam, while you pull him out, Mary,” Amon gasped as he hefted the wooden brace.
Together, the two young men hoisted the heavy beam a few inches while Mary grasped the man by his shoulders and pulled him from under the thick wooden beam. The man gasped in relief but was unable to speak. It appeared that his chest had been crushed by the beam that fell on him.
Tom was astonished to recognize the man. It was Harry the Horse, the notorious Pied Piper of Elm Park, who used to lead the neighborhood kids in boisterous games of stickball on the Pulaski Avenue. Unlike the other dads of the neighborhood, who were too busy working or drinking at Kaffman’s or K. C.’s, Harry always had the time and the inclination to play street games.
“I think I broke my collarbone,” he exclaimed, obviously in pain.
“Just rest a minute,” Amon replied as he rubbed his forehead, arms, and chest.
After a few minutes, Harry appeared to revive. “I’m feeling a little better. Are you some kind of faith healer?”
“Not at all. Most people are capable of healing themselves. A working man like you has the strength to bounce back from a minor injury.”
“Wait a minute. I’ve met you before in Elm Park.” Looking over toward Tom, he said, “You were with this guy, the worst stickball player in the neighborhood. But at least he made something of himself, teaching those brats at Curtis High School.”
“I think you’re feeling better already. Back to your usual good-natured self,” Tom snapped.
Standing up and dusting himself off, Harry said he bought the ramshackle house for a song. “I’m tired of paying rents in Elm Park. So I’m fixing this place up in my spare time.”
Turning to Mary, he exclaimed, “And thanks to you, young lady. Yours was the first face I saw when I came through. I thought I had died and gone to heaven.”
Mary blushed sweetly. “It’s something anyone would do under the circumstances. I’m so glad you’re okay.”
Looking around the debris-filled house, Tom de
clared, “I guess it’s what real estate brokers call a fixer-upper.”
Shaking Amon’s hand, Harry said, “I wish I could repay you in some way. But between this place and my job, I’m busier than a one-armed paper hanger.”
“No. Just keep doing what you’re doing. That’s reward enough for me. But when you finish this place, I’d like to see it,” Amon replied.
“I’ll have the three of you here for a meal. My wife’s a great cook. You like Italian food?”
“Nothing’s better. But there is one thing. You’ll have to show me how the fast-pitch game of stickball is played. I’m a county boy who’s ignorant of that sort of game,” Amon said.
“You’re on. I can tell right away that you’re a natural. Unlike this guy here,” Harry replied, rapping Tom on the shoulder.
“What do you mean? I wasn’t bad as a stickball player,” Tom retorted.
“Yeah, sure. He once broke Mrs. Eggert’s window. Another time he hit a pop-up that landed in a concrete tub a man was using to fix his sidewalk,” Harry said.
“Tom’s a real menace, but he means well,” Amon replied.
“Tom’s a good guy. Loyal and true blue,” Mary concurred, giving the skinny teacher a hug.
Later on, the three young people sat at a luncheonette on Richmond Avenue, sipping coffee and eating some apple pie. Amon was trying to extricate a large splinter from his right hand—the result of his lifting the heavy wooden beam from Harry the Horse’s chest.
“Wait a minute,” the pretty young woman said as she took out a small sewing kit from her pocketbook. “Hold still, and don’t be a baby. I’ll get it out pronto.”
“Do you always go around equipped with needles and first-aid stuff?” Tom inquired.
“I have no choice. This man’s an accident waiting to happen,” she exclaimed, giving Amon a resounding thump on the chest.