Goodbye, Mr. Spalding

by Jennifer Robin Barr

  “Well,” I clear my throat again. “I’m not really comfortable with that, so I’m going to try to siphon the gas.”

  “All right. What’s in it for us?”

  “Well, I guess we’ll need a hose and a gas can. I’ll pick them up new from the store and you guys can have them when we are through.”

  “And the gas?”

  I wasn’t prepared for this. The plan came about so quickly in my head that I didn’t have a great answer.

  “I’m planning on just leaving the gas on his back stoop. Kind of like a prank.” I’m forcing a cheerful voice. “Siphon, not steal. Wouldn’t that be funny?” I sound like an idiot.

  “Then how do we get the can?”

  “Oh, I …”

  I’m not prepared for the curse words that now come out of his mouth. Something like: You can’t be serious, Jimmy Frank. You want us to risk gettin’ caught just because you’re too much of a wimp? Steal the gas, only not to steal it? You are a joke, your idea is a joke, and your girlfriend is a joke. Now get out of my way before you regret it. Only these words are littered with words that start with A and S and even a few that start with F.

  “Um, I …”

  “Um, I,” he sneers. “Get a life, Jimmy Frank. Or maybe get your girlfriend to help you.”

  Lola is walking toward us. I look back to the Polinski brother, and he’s already a block away.

  “You did what?” Lola says after I explain.

  I don’t answer and just stare at the sidewalk, trying not to step on the cracks.

  “Maybe it was you who got struck in the head instead of Jimmie Foxx!” She throws her hands in the air. “Did you forget all about Rule #19?”

  “You know I can’t stay away from them. We go to the same school and we live in the same neighborhood. And besides, they’ve been all right the last couple of weeks.”

  She squints her eyes and burns a gaze into my head.

  “What? One game on a playground and suddenly you’re all chummy?”

  “No. I just thought they could do it. And then I’m not involved.”

  “And you don’t see how dangerous that is? They get caught, you get caught. Even if you’re not there.”

  “Nobody will believe that I’m involved with them,” I reply.

  “And then you’ll spend the rest of your life running from them! And I thought we were in this together. How could you do that without me?”

  I don’t say anything and she presses on. “Then tell me, when did your little ideas become so illegal?”

  “You’re not such an angel, Lola, so stop acting like it. You sneak into the ballpark. You’re going to deliver a fake letter on Friday.”

  “Those things aren’t throw-you-in-jail illegal. They don’t harm anything. You know that.”

  “See, that’s the thing.” I look up. “It’s not illegal! It wouldn’t be stealing his gas, just hiding his gas. He can put the gas back in the car. Just put it right back in!” I realize that I’m stepping on several cracks now and feel irritated.

  “Calm down, Jimmy. I have a right to be upset. You don’t.”

  “I can be tough and mean like those kids, you know.”

  “Why would you want to be?” She stops in her tracks.

  “I’m not so good, Lola.” My voice is starting to rise. “I’m sick of hiding from them all the time. I’m sick of being the nice kid all the time. And I’m sick of doing the right thing. What do I get? I get to hide in shadows. I get to scrounge for every penny. I get to watch a wall built right in front of my window.”

  “You’d never have done something like that without me before,” she says.

  “Well nothing came of it, anyway.” I try to break the tension by changing the subject. “Hey, did you hear that Jimmie Foxx signed a three-year contract?”

  No response.

  “He’s staying with the A’s. That’s great news for us.” I try again.

  Still no response.

  “And he’s playing catcher,” I add, knowing she’ll react.

  “Sure. Okay. He’s going from first base to catcher. That’s ridiculous. Now you are just trying to see if I’m paying attention, Jimmy. I am paying attention to you. I always pay attention to you. I’m just choosing not to respond.”

  “Honest, Lola! See—here,” I say as I pull out the paper. She reads as we make our way into Reyburn Park.

  “That’s really something. Too bad you can’t bring him warm pie from jail.” And with that, we turn the corner and almost slam right into the four Polinski brothers.

  “Hey Frank, I hear you need someone to do your dirty work for you,” the oldest Polinski says, staring at Lola. She steps forward and opens her mouth to say something, but I cut her off.

  “Nah,” I say uneasily. “It was just an idea. I’ll do it on my own.”

  “Too late, dimwit. We sure could use a gas can,” he says, and the middle brothers step forward. “But leave your girlfriend at home.”

  Lola mumbles something under her breath, and the oldest Polinski starts moving toward her. I step in between.

  “Sure guys. Um, Thanksgiving night. Let’s talk about it at school tomorrow,” I quickly say. I can feel Lola’s eyes burning in the back of my head as I turn to leave.

  “You better come through, Frank.”

  “Or what?” Lola says, and I stop in my tracks, holding my breath. The oldest Polinski comes within an inch of her face and she stands her ground.

  “You don’t wanna know.”

  17

  “I’m gonna make a scene.” She says it with that sort of face that tells me I can’t change her mind. But I still try.

  “Come on, Lola. It’s Thanksgiving night. Give it a chance,” I say.

  We sit on the stoop of St. Columba under the stained-glass window, waiting for the evening to take shape.

  “I can’t believe you are doing this,” she says.

  “I know. I can’t believe it either. I’m so dumb,” I reply.

  “Yep.”

  “Yep.”

  “Maybe it’s a sign, meeting here.” Lola points to the stained-glass window. “It’s like he’s telling you not to go.” We both stare at the large, round, glass window with Jesus in the center; its soft colors are barely glimmering in the low light from the gas streetlamps. He’s looking right down on us. As usual, I try to catch his eye, with no luck.

  “Nah, he’s telling us to fight for what we believe.”

  “By committing a sin?”

  “Maybe I’m that dove in the corner. Flying free.”

  “You are not free while the Polinskis are in control,” she says. “Where’s that money from, anyway?”

  “What money?”

  “For the gas can. And the hose.” She points to the box of supplies on the step.

  “I made it an IOU from a Mr. Miller at the store. Figured Bing Miller needs to give me a whole lot of luck right about now. The IOU will give me some time to pay the money back.”

  “How much?” she asks.

  “Thirty-seven cents for the gas can, and twenty cents for the piece of hose,” I reply. “I’ll go down to the next Eagles game and park some cars to make it back.”

  “So, you have it all figured out?”

  “Look, I made a mistake, but it’s too late now. Can’t you just wish me luck?”

  “Try to catch his eye again.” She points to the stained glass. “Maybe he can bring you luck.”

  “I already tried.”

  “It’s not too late,” she says in frustration and buries her head in her hands.

  “Listen, all they need is for me to be a lookout. I’ll barely do anything. And it’s happening tonight because nobody will be around on Thanksgiving. If that telegram doesn’t work tomorrow morning, this is a great backup plan. When he tries to start his car, it will be out of gas.” I pause, and there is an uncomfortable silence. “It’s brilliant, really.”

  “Brilliant,” she replies flatly.

  “Lola, please don’t embarrass me.�
�

  “Embarrass you! That’s better than me having to explain to your parents why they have to pay a fine when you’re in jail,” she says.

  “That’s not fair! You’ll say anything right now to stop me.”

  “You’re right, Jimmy! I’ll say and I’ll do anything! Because of Rule #12: Jimmy and Lola will always be best friends forever. Because it’s Thanksgiving!”

  “Some Thanksgiving. We didn’t even have a decent meal. Tomato gravy and biscuits. You didn’t either! What did you have, potato soup?” I say bitterly.

  “Exactly!” she says. “Do you want to be the one to make it worse? Do you want to be the one to ruin Thanksgiving?”

  I put my hands to my ears, but she doesn’t let up.

  “Honestly Jimmy, tomorrow is the plan. Rule #22 is the plan. Change the time of the meeting is the plan! None of that will happen if you are caught doing this tonight.”

  “That won’t happen.” My voice is a little weak, and again, I know that she is right.

  “Oh, come on! It’s like I’m stuck in the middle of one of your daydreams and can’t find my way out! Do you really think the Polinskis will do it just for fun? Do you really think they’ll say, ‘Okay, Jimmy. We’ve taken all the gas out of the car so that Dilworth can’t drive to his court hearing. Now let’s make sure we return the gas.’ And then they’ll all beg to be the ones to leave the gas can safely by Dilworth’s back door.” Her face is bright red. “They don’t care. They are going to take that gas and sell it. It’s not a prank. It’s stealing, and it was your idea.”

  “No. It’s just a prank. If they steal it, that’s their idea.” I’m saying the words, but I know she’s right. “And anyway, I can’t turn back now.” We see them coming toward the church. A moment later, the oldest takes the gas can and hose from the box.

  “What’s she doing here?” one of the brothers sneers.

  “She’s just leaving.” My eyes plead with Lola to go quietly, but I wish I had said I was leaving. Her head and shoulders drop just enough for me to know—she was hoping I’d come. I want to turn back time. I open my mouth to tell her to stop, but nothing comes out.

  She walks away, motioning for me to follow one final time. I look from her, to the brothers, and back.

  “Come with me, Jimmy,” she says from the corner.

  I turn away, joining the Polinskis as we start toward Dilworth’s house.

  18

  The four brothers look tattered and walk with a sort of tough-guy strut. As I join them, with my good posture and clean knickers and warm coat, I look like the odd man out. I pull out my tucked-in shirt, slump my shoulders, and awkwardly walk beside them. Halfway there, the youngest brother tugs at my coat.

  “Why are you doing this?” he whispers with an urgency that surprises me.

  “What?” I whisper back. He rolls his eyes.

  “Look, just keep your head down,” he says quietly. “And if it gets bad—run.” I give him a nod and continue to look forward. Why is he trying to help me?

  “It’s that one,” I say and point to the red car three houses away. I look down at my finger and realize it’s shaking. I immediately put my hand in my pocket.

  “Yowzer, she’s a beaut. You stay here and keep a lookout,” one of them says to me. I watch as they all crouch and surround the car. It’s freezing, but sweat has formed on the back of my neck. “And quit acting so guilty. You’ll get us all caught.”

  The wind is rattling a metal trash can lid and whipping a piece of newspaper down the street. It scrapes the ground with a swish every few seconds. My heart leaps out of my chest at the noise each time.

  I notice an older lady on her porch take an interest in the brothers, and I tuck my face into my sweater so she doesn’t recognize me. The sweat is now starting to form on my brow, and my knees begin to shake. I slide closer to the edge of the street behind a black convertible.

  That’s when I hear her yelling for me.

  “Hey, Jimmy!”

  I pretend not to hear Lola’s voice, and turn my back to where I think she is walking. The oldest Polinski peeks out from behind the car and motions for me. I creep up, even though my legs are wobbling uncontrollably.

  “You go shut her up. You hear me? Get her out of here, Jimmy Frank.”

  Before I know it, Lola is standing next to me, out of breath.

  “Jimmy’s Ma is asking for him. I have strict instructions to come home with him.”

  “Listen Frank, you got us out here, dragging this stuff.” The oldest Polinski lifts the can and hose. “Now let’s do this.”

  Lola is pulling my arm as she starts to cross the street. The four brothers eye one another.

  “Don’t worry about it, Jimmy,” another brother says. “We’ll take care of it, Buddy. And thanks for these.” He points to the supplies.

  “Okay, just leave the gas on his stoop. Promise?” I say in a loud whisper.

  “Sure,” he turns away. A couple of them laugh.

  “Sounds great!” I say desperately. They all stop what they are doing and stare.

  “Go,” the youngest brother silently mouths to us. Lola and I turn our back to the Polinskis.

  “Move quickly,” Lola urges. “Trust me.”

  We turn the corner and immediately see a police officer heading in our direction.

  “Oh my God,” I say under my breath.

  “Keep calm,” Lola whispers. “Follow my lead.”

  She pulls me closer, hooks her arm into mine, and leans her head on my shoulder. She giggles a little and starts talking like she’s in the middle of a story.

  “And then Gram said those people are nuts, and we all laughed. She tells the best stories! Then we had apple pie for dessert with real whipped cream and …”

  She keeps going as he passes, and again does a nice job of acting like a lovestruck teenager, out for a stroll after Thanksgiving dinner.

  A block later, she lets go and crosses her arms.

  “You owe me one,” she says coldly.

  “Where did he come from?”

  “I saw him walking this direction up on 22nd Street, so I doubled around the block and sprinted all the way to you. I didn’t think I was going to make it to you in time.”

  “So, you didn’t call him?”

  “What? Do you really think I would do that!”

  “No. Of course not,” I say quietly, shaking my head. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” I bury my face in my sweaty palms. “What was I thinking?”

  “You weren’t thinking,” she snaps.

  “Do you think they’ll be caught?” I glance back.

  “Yes.” She says this so matter-of-factly, and I know she’s right.

  “I should be there. They’ll kill me.” I look back to see the officer has turned the corner and is heading directly for them.

  “Then you would have been in jail too. Period.”

  “They’re really going to kill me. They are going to beat me to a pulp,” I say, staring at my feet. My stomach lurches, and I feel a sudden urge to vomit.

  “Hold on.” I pause and sit on a stoop. “Just give me a second.” I take deep breaths as Lola stands before me, arms crossed.

  “You can catch your breath at home,” she says, tapping her foot.

  “Now I’ve gone and done it. You think they’ll tell the cops about me?”

  “Probably, but like you said before, nobody will believe them. They’re caught doing something bad every day.”

  “I’ll never have another moment of peace.”

  “You will if they are in jail.”

  “Oh, God. If they say my name, the cops will come to my house and ask questions.”

  “Let’s just worry about what we can—and that’s the original plan. Change the time of Dilworth’s meeting,” she says. “Now let’s get going.” She takes my hands and pulls me up.

  “You still want to do that with me?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “I’m sorry, Lola.”

  �
�I know.”

  Again she hooks her arm in mine.

  “I’m really lucky to have you,” I say awkwardly.

  “Rule #12. Best friends,” she replies, and gives me a reassuring smile as we start for home.

  19

  Mack is using the Japanese scene to break Jimmie Foxx in as a catcher, the position he is to play next season …

  —The Sporting News, November 22, 1934

  Between the tensions the night before and the sleepless night, I leave for the letter-delivery exhausted. I have no idea if the gas-stealing Polinskis pulled it off, or if they were caught. I’m careful not to bring it up.

  “Ready?” I say as we walk down the porch steps.

  “Sure,” Lola replies in a low voice. There is no enthusiasm today. None of the pre-plan nervous excitement that we felt on the Knothole Gang day. Our mission feels more like a chore than a thrilling save-the-neighborhood scheme.

  We walk the five blocks to 26th Street completely silent, passing cars and watching cold-morning steam rise from the rows of rooftops. Just before we turn down the street, Lola ducks into a shadow and quickly pulls down her skirt, revealing her brother’s knickers underneath. I give her my coat and A’s ball cap, and she tucks her hair in. As planned, we arrive at seven thirty a.m. sharp, with Lola looking so much like a boy that it’s the least of my worries.

  “Good luck,” I whisper and give her shoulder a squeeze. I’m nervous, but I put the worry aside and hide around the corner, peeking quietly as Lola stands on the porch and knocks on the door.

  It seems to take forever, and she glances back at me. His car is still here, so why isn’t he answering? I wonder if the gas has indeed been stolen, and maybe he caught a ride with someone else. She starts to turn away from the door when it begins to open.

  I crouch lower and can barely see as she hands Richardson Dilworth the letter and has him sign a clipboard that I borrowed from the store. He hands her a tip, and she nods. As planned, she didn’t utter a word.

  Lola leaves the porch and rounds the corner. We run down the street giggling. She takes her cap off and lets her long brown hair fall past her shoulders. Her eyes and smile are both wide, and we are floating on air. What a difference ten minutes can make.