Great Brain Reforms

by John D. Fitzgerald

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  “One of the windows isn’t locked,” I said, “unless they fixed it. Mr. Standish complained because he couldn’t shut it last winter when it got a little cold.”

  I showed Tom and Sweyn the window, which was open about two inches. Tom pushed it up.

  “You stay here, J. D.,” he said, “and keep a sharp lookout.”

  I watched my two brothers climb through the win-dow with the gunnysack. I kept a sharp lookout but didn’t know what for. All I saw was a stray dog.

  I knew exactly what my two brothers would have to do to get the bell. In the hallway where the kids hung their coats and caps during school, there was a ladder nailed to the wall that led to the belfry trap door. Once they got into the belfry, Tom would have to tie the clapper of the bell with a piece of twine he’d brought along so the bell wouldn’t ring. Then they would have to loosen the L) bolt holding the bell. Once they got the bell on the floor of the belfry, they could tie one end of the lariat to it and lower it down into the hallway.

  It seemed to me they were taking a long time but they finally came to the window. They had the bell, wrench, and lariat in the gunnysack. Tom climbed out the window and Sweyn handed him the gunnysack.

  “You scout, J. D.,” Tom said. “S. D. and I will carry the gunnysack.”

  I scouted and got us back to the barn without anybody seeing us. Papa had lit the kerosene lantern we kept in the barn and was sitting on a bale of hay, patting the heads of Brownie and Prince. He got up and helped my two brothers hang the bell on the homemade belfry on the wagon while I held the lantern. Then Papa stood back and admired the float-

  “Don’t forget, boys,” he said. “Mum’s the word to

  your mother.” Papa wanted to make sure he got credit for stealing the bell-

  “Aren’t you forgetting something?” Tom asked, grinning.

  Papa took out his purse and gave each of us half a dollar. It made me wonder how many things Papa had done that Mamma didn’t know anything about.

  Tom touched my arm. “Leave the dogs in the barn,” he whispered—

  1 didn’t know why he wanted me to leave the dogs in

  the barn, but I did. It was past my bedtime when we entered the house.

  “The bell is on the float,” Papa told Mamma and

  Aunt Bertha, looking as proud as if he had done it all by himself.

  I’m telling you. Papa was really something some-times. But I didn’t mind him taking all the credit. I was

  fifty cents richer than when I left the house. I went upstairs with Tom.

  “Keep your clothes on,” Tom said. “We’re going out. That’s why I told you to leave the dogs in the barn. We

  don’t want them following us. And be quiet so you don’t wake up Frankie.”

  “Where are we going?” I whispered.

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  “To fix it so those Mormon kids lose the tug of war tomorrow,” he said.

  “Do you mean your great brain figured out a plan to dunk those Mormon kids in the canal?” I asked.

  “I’ll not only dunk them,” Tom said, “but empty their pocketbooks at the same time.”

  He removed the screen from our bedroom window, and we shinnied down the elm tree by the window-I followed him to the woodshed. He picked up a partly filled gunnysack and the ax and a shovel.

  “What’s in the sack?” I asked.

  “Wooden stakes,” he answered. “And stop asking questions. We have work to do.”

  Just then the whistle at the powerhouse blew, signal-ing that it was nine o’clock and curfew time. No kid un-der sixteen was allowed on the streets after nine o’clock unless accompanied by an adult. This meant Tom and I had to be careful. I followed him down alleys on a round-about way to the town park. The park was one block square with a bandstand in the middle and picnic tables set under trees. It was bounded on one side by the Aden Irrigation Canal. Tom and I cut through the park to the bridge over the canal. We crossed the bridge and walked about fifteen feet below it to where the tug of war was always held. Tom dumped out the stakes from the gunnysack. They had sharp points on one end and were about two inches thick and eight inches long.

  Tom picked up one of the stakes and drew two lines in the dirt about a foot apart, straight out from the canal for about twenty-five feet.

  “This is the path my team will use for the tug of war,” he said. “Take the shovel and scoop out the dirt

  down about three inches. I’m going to drive stakes in the ground about six inches apart, all along the path my team will use. We will be able to brace our heels against the stakes and it would take a team of mules to pull us across the canal. We will just hold the Mormon team until they get good and tired. Then, using the stakes as anchors to brace the heels of our shoes against, we will pull them across the canal.”

  “Won’t they see the stakes?” I asked.

  “No,” he said, “because I’ll cover them up with about an inch of dirt.”

  “Then why do you want me to dig down three inches?” I asked.

  “So the dirt will be loose to dig the heels of our shoes into,” Tom said. “The stakes will still have to be driven about six inches into solid ground so they will hold.”

  I began scooping out the dirt with the shovel between the lines Tom had drawn. He came right behind me, hammering the stakes into the ground with the blunt end of the ax. When we had finished we covered up the stakes with dirt so they couldn’t be seen.

  • I was much too excited about the float contest the next morning to think about the tug of war. We braided red, white, and blue ribbons into the manes of our horses, after hitching them to the wagon. We fastened lassies to the harnesses and small American flags to the hames of the harnesses. Mamma used a black crayon to put an imitation crack on the bell. Then we went into the house to put on our costumes. Sweyn would drive the team dressed in a red, white, and blue Uncle Sam costume Mamma and Aunt Bertha had made. My costume was the kind of

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  clothing a boy wore in 1776 and Tom’s the kind of clothing an old man wore then. To make Tom look like an old man. Mamma had made a white wig and beard out of cotton. At last we were ready to take the float to the campground.

  I could hear kids shooting off firecrackers all over town as we left our barn. Sweyn was driving the team and Tom and I were in our places on the float. Uncle Mark was in charge of lining up the floats at the campground. He was riding his stallion, Lightning, and wearing a white Stetson hat, a bright red shirt, white buckskin pants, and a red, white, and blue scarf around his neck. He directed Sweyn to our place in the line of floats.

  There were about twenty floats entered. Right in front of us was Seth Smith’s mother’s float, depicting Washington crossing the Delaware. She must have been sewing for weeks. Mr. Smith was wearing a uniform and hat like photographs I’d seen of General George Washington. His brother and a couple of other relatives were dressed like soldiers in the Continental Army. Mr. Smith and his brother had built a pretty good imitation of a boat on the bed of their wagon. Behind us was Mrs. Winters’ float, showing Betsy Ross making the first American flag.

  Uncle Mark, acting as grand marshal, signaled that the parade was about to begin. He rode at the head of it, carrying a large American flag. Behind him on foot was the town band playing “Columbia the Gem of the Ocean.” They were wearing white flannel trousers, white shirts, and straw hats with red, white, and blue ribbons on them. Main Street was a glorious sight with all the buildings decorated with red, white, and blue bunting and American flags. Men, women, and children lined both sides of the

  street waving small flags and brightly colored balloons.

  The judges’ stand was a platform that had been built in front of the Adenville bank. The three judges were Mayor Whitlock, Judge Potter, and Bishop Aden of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, which was the full name of the Mormon church. Bishop Aden was the founder of Adenville, for whom the town was named.

  Uncle Mark stopped the parade
as each float reached the judges’ stand. When it was Mrs. Smith’s turn, I just knew she was going to win first prize. The applause from the judges and spectators for Washington crossing the Delaware was so loud, I could hardly hear the band. “Ready, J. D.?” Tom asked.

  I nodded my head. A moment later Sweyn stopped our team in front of the judges’ stand.

  “Ring, Grandpa, ring!” I shouted, just the way Mamma had coached me. “Oh, ring for liberty!”

  Tom began pulling the rope that rang the schoolhouse bell. And it sounded to me as if our float got as much applause as Mrs, Smith’s float.

  The parade continued down Main Street, passing our home, and on to West Tenth Street, where it broke up. The prizes wouldn’t be awarded until that afternoon. It was time to take the float home. Papa was waiting in the

  corral for us. He, Mamma, and Aunt Bertha had watched the parade from our front porch.

  We unhitched the team from the wagon and hitched it to our buggy. Then Tom, Sweyn, and I went into the house to take off our costumes and put on our everyday cloches. Everybody got all dressed up for the parade, but after it was over all the boys and girls changed to their everyday clothing so they could enter the contests.

  We all began loading up the buggy for the picnic. First came the washtub with a cake of ice in it and a watermelon and bottles of homemade root beer. Then came baskets, pots, and pans containing food. The ice-cream freezer was last, after being repacked with salt and ice.

  There wasn’t room in the buggy for all of us to ride. Papa took Mamma and Aunt Bertha with him. Tom, Sweyn, Frankie, and I walked to the park after getting our firecrackers and sparklers from the house. There were buggies and wagons with teams of horses parked on both sides of the streets. Papa found a place to leave our buggy while Mamma found a picnic table under a tree for us. We all helped unload the food. Like all Adenville families we would spend the rest of the day in the park.

  Every picnic table was piled high with about the same things we had on our table. There were” bowls filled with fried chicken and potato salad. There were plates with green onions, radishes, pickles, olives, and hard-boiled eggs. There was a big smoked ham and bread-and-butter sandwiches. And, for dessert, we had an apple and berry pie, chocolate cake, ice cream, and watermelon.

  I ate until I thought I would burst and so did everybody else in the park. Then the picnic tables were covered with tablecloths to protect the food from flies, and we all crowded around the bandstand. The band played a fanfare. Then Mayor Whitlock held up his hands for silence.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “the moment you have all been anxiously waiting tor has arrived. But first, the judges wish to compliment the persons responsible for so many fine floats this year. They made the decision

  of the judges very difficult. After due deliberation, how-ever, the judges have awarded first prize to Mrs. Smith for her float showing Washington crossing the Delaware.”

  The crowd applauded as Mrs. Smith went up to the bandstand to get her blue ribbon. Again Mayor Whitlock held up his hands for silence.

  “The judges have awarded Mrs. Fitzgerald second prize for her float depicting the ringing of the liberty bell,” he announced.

  I could see Mamma was happy as she went to get her red ribbon. Not as happy as she would have been to win first prize, but happy. But it just goes to prove that the more a kid tries to figure out how the minds of grownups work, the more confused he becomes. Mayor Whitlock must have known that the bell on Mamma’s float was the schoolhouse bell. And as chairman of the school board he certainly knew the bell had been taken without his permission. But instead of having Mamma arrested for stealing the bell, there was Mayor Whitlock awarding her second prize. Boy, oh, boy, you can bet if some kids had stolen the bell the Mayor would have had them arrested.

  Mrs. Carter was awarded third prize for her float depicting the signing of the Declaration of Independence. It was then time for the contests for kids to begin, with Reverend Holcomb and Bishop Aden acting as judges and Uncle Mark as starter. Grownups who didn’t want to watch the contests could listen to the band concert.

  First came the spoon-and-egg races for kids five to six years old. Each kid was given a spoon with a raw egg in it. He or she had to hold the spoon by the handle. The first one to reach the finish line without dropping the egg won. “Don’t run,” I whispered to Frankie. “The kids who

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  try to run wilt drop their eggs. You just walk.”

  It was good advice but a couple of other kids had the same idea and one of them won the race. The egg-and- spoon races then continued for different age groups. How-ard Kay won the race for my age group.

  Then came the potato-sack races. Each kid put his feet and legs in a potato sack and, holding the sack around his waist, jumped toward the finish line. Frankie lost because he fell down. I might as well have fallen down. I came in sixth for my age group-I began to wonder why Tom wasn’t there. He had won the potato-sack race for three straight years. And this year the prize was a harmonica. All prizes for the races were donated by the mer-chants in town, but they were usually only worth about a nickel or dime at the most. The harmonica was worth at least a quarter, I became so curious that 1 went looking for Tom. Maybe he didn’t know the prize^was a harmonica.

  I found him talking to some Mormon kids. He was making bets with them on the tug of war and writing down the amount and the names in a notebook. I told him about the harmonica prize.

  “I’m not entering any contests this year,” he said- “I’ve got a lot of kids to see before the tug of war.”

  I returned to the contests. I surprised myself by winning the foot race for kids my age. The prize was a box of Cracker Jacks which I gave to Frankie. When the contests were over, it was time to eat again. Everybody returned to their picnic tables. After eating Tom took me to one side.

  “Hold on to this,” he said, handing me the notebook. “It has all the bets I made in it. I don’t want to get it wet in case we lose.”

  “How can you lose with those stakes in the ground?” I asked.

  “I forgot something,” Tom said. “Mayor Whitlock always tosses a coin to see which team gets which side of the canal. I’ve got to put my great brain to work on how to make sure my team gets the right side.”

  It was now time for the kids to shoot off their firecrackers and sparklers and play games while the grownups listened to the band concert. This went on until it was time for the tug of war which was the last event of the day. A fanfare from the band notified everybody that the time had arrived. Mayor Whitlock was on the bandstand.

  “Will the captains for the two teams come up here/’ he said.

  Tom and Seth Smith went to the bandstand. The mayor removed a coin from his pocket.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Whitlock,” Tom said. “As you know, it is easier to get a good footing in the dirt on the other side of the canal than it is on the grass on this side. Don’t you think it would be more fair to let the team that lost last year have the other side, instead of tossing a coin?”

  Mr. Whitlock nodded. “I think that is a good idea,” he said. “Is that all right with you, Seth?”

  “It doesn’t make any difference to my team,” Seth

  said confidently. “We will win no matter which side we

  get/- Tom’s great brain had done it again. He got the side

  where the stakes were for his team-He and Seth were given the rope for the tug of war. Tom held one end of it and crossed the bridge over the canal. He and Seth held the rope tight so it wouldn’t get wet in the canal as they walked down to where the tug of war would take place.

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  Seth made Tubby Ralston his anchor man, tying his end of the rope around the Eat boy’s waist. Tom made Basil his anchor man. The other nine members of each team got in place and took a tight grip on the rope.

  “All right, boys!” Uncle Mark shouted as he removed his Colt .45 from its holster and pointed it upwards. “Get ready! Get set! Go!” And he f
ired a shot into the air.

  I watched the fellows on Tom’s team dig their heels

  into the dirt. The Mormon team pulled them toward the

  canal a few inches, until the heels of the Gentile boys hit the stakes in the ground. Then Tom’s team just stiffened their bodies and leaned back. Those Mormon kids puffed and heaved and grunted and groaned but they couldn’t budge the Gentile team one inch. Tom just let them struggle until sweat was pouring off-them and they were so tired their tongues were hanging out.

  Then Tom shouted, “Now, men!” -

  The Gentile team began backing up, using the stakes in the ground to brace their feet. Slowly but surely they pulled the Mormon team toward the canal. Seth, as captain of the team, was the first to be pulled into the canal. And then the rest of those Mormon kids were dunked.

  The Mormon team was the most downhearted bunch of kids I’d ever seen as they climbed out of the canal. The Gentile team was proud and happy as they danced around on the other side. But I knew the dancing was a part of Tom’s plan. His team were using their feet to cover up the stakes with dirt.

  Everybody went home after the tug of war. There were still two big events to come after supper. The fireworks display would begin on the courthouse lawn when it got dark, to be followed by a dance in the social hall of

  the Mormon tabernacle. I guess every Mormon kid in town had bet on the ‘tug of war. Tom totaled up the bets in the notebook when we got home-He had taken those Mor-mon kids for five dollars and fifteen cents. I was kicking myself that I was such a dumb-dumb, I didn’t have sense enough to make a few bets myself.

  After it got dark we all went to watch the fireworks. Uncle Mark was in charge of the display, which always lasted about an hour. It had always been the best part of the Fourth of July for me. Imagine my surprise when Tom pulled me aside just before the fireworks,