Summer of the Guns

by Justin Daniel Herman

  “Why do they call it a ‘Hoover Camp’?” I asked him.

  He squinched his face up in a sour expression. “Because a man named Hoover was president of the country when the Depression started,” he said, “and folks blame everything on him.”

  “But none of that’s Oaf’s fault,” I answered.

  “Look, Billie,” he said sternly, “there are people you need to stay away from in this world, and it ain’t necessarily because they’re bad. Oaf’s a good kid—he’s slow maybe, but he ain’t mean. But his old man is a different story. His name’s Boomer, or that’s what he calls himself. He’s the one person around here, besides Lenny Wells, that I’m honestly afraid of. Boomer don’t get drunk often, but when he does, he gets into trouble. He oughta be locked up but they haven’t managed to convict him. Not yet anyway.”

  “That’s the man that grabbed Sara in the box car!” I blurted. “He told us his name was Boomer!” I’d told Ace about the incident in the boxcar, but I’d never mentioned Boomer’s name.

  Ace frowned, then sat back in his big stuffed chair. “Well stay the hell away from him. If you two weren’t on the lam, you could put him behind bars. But if we tried to bring any charges, they’d take you away from me, and then probably Boomer would come looking for me and Kelly, too.”

  Scared as I was of Boomer, I didn’t heed Ace’s command. Oaf and I were already friends, I told myself, and I wasn’t going to avoid him. And besides which, I needed his protection. Strange as it seems, though, I ran into Boomer before I saw Oaf again, only it wasn’t what I expected.

  On Saturday nights, Kelly would sell newspapers on one corner of the nearby intersection called Six Points. It had a drugstore, a Chinese grocery, and a bar, all clustered together on the north side. I’d help Kelly by working the drugstore while he stayed around the bar. When it was slow, though, we’d sometimes switch places, which is just what we’d done that night. The bar was called Hack’s Place. It was a typical beer joint with sawdust on the floor, dim lights and slot machines. Nobody paid much attention when I sometimes took a turn at the nickel machine. But on that particular night, I got everyone’s attention when I hit the jackpot. Bells went off, lights flashed, and coins spilled into the receiving cup so fast they bounced out onto the floor.

  Hack, a big fleshy man with curly hair, was behind the bar. He started screaming when he saw what happened. “Get out of here, goddamn it,” he sputtered. “You’ll cost me my license for this place if the cops walk in. And leave the money where it is. You ain’t old enough to play the slots.” Then a tall, bearded man sitting at the bar turned around and took pity on me.

  “It’s okay,” he said to Hack. “I’ll help him pick up his nickels. He won ‘em fair and square. I’m sure all those nickels will come in handy at home.”

  Nobody interfered as the man got down on all fours and helped me pick up coins out of the sawdust. We placed them in my newspaper bag. After we’d finished, he patted my shoulder. “Now, get on home,” he said. “Tell your momma to spend this wisely.” Then he looked at me closely and recognition seemed to dawn. About that time, I recognized him, too.

  “I think I’ve seen you before,” he muttered.

  “Oh, no, no sir,” I stammered. “I’m Ace Kelly’s nephew. I’m just visiting.”

  “Well, get on home,” he said, scratching his bearded chin. At that moment, Kelly came into the bar. “Oh, hello, Mr. Smith,” he said. “Do you want a paper?”

  “Uh, no,” he replied. He pondered Kelly for a minute then turned back to me. “Have you got a little sister?” he asked me.

  “No, sir,” I lied. “Kelly and me’s like brothers. My Mama’s dead, but Uncle Ace looks after me.”

  Then a fat man sitting close to us twisted around. “The less women, the better. Old Boomer kinda likes them, though—don’t you, Smith—and the younger the better.”

  Boomer turned on the man, fuming. He started to say something, then stalked out of the bar.

  “If you’ve got a little sister, keep her away from him,” the man said as Boomer left. I started to reply, then thought better of it.

  “If you ever run into Boomer again,” said Kelly as we walked away, “you better just run.”

  When we got home, Ace put on his “furious” face about me playing the slots in Hack’s Place, but I could tell he didn’t mean it. He was so happy he was almost shaking as he counted the nickels.

  “There’s over sixteen dollars here,” he said. “It ain’t quite enough for everything, but at least we can buy food and pay bills. I was wondering how I was gonna do that—what with three of you now. And school’s coming up. I don’t know how I can pay for that. This kid-raising thing’s a money-losing proposition all the way down the line.”

  “School!” I said, feeling betrayed “I don’t want to go to school. They’ll treat me like they did in Arkansas. They made me go to a one-room school for negroes two miles out of town and they wouldn’t take Sara at all. When I quit to take care of us, they didn’t even look for me.”

  “They do the same stuff here,” said Ace. “Make the negro kids go to one school and put the white ones in another. We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. We got a whole month yet before school starts. Maybe I’ll just school you right at home, if they let me. Hell, maybe I won’t even tell ‘em.”

  10

  The next morning, Oaf appeared at the door unexpectedly. Ace told him Kelly and I weren’t home. “Yes, I am!” I shouted from the bathroom. Then I suddenly remembered the incident at the bar. “Your pa helped me pick up the nickels I won at Hack’s Place last night,” I said, “did he tell you about it?”

  “Not a word,” Oaf replied. “He just got drunk and went to bed. He’s still sleeping it off. How much did you win?”

  “Sixteen bucks!” I said proudly.

  “Damn!” said Oaf. “I ain’t never seen that much money in my life. Let’s go out and get some beer and celebrate.”

  “Like hell,” piped up Ace. “What did you come over here for, Oaf?”

  “I thought maybe Billie and Kelly would want to make some money, only I guess they don’t need any.”

  Ace put his hands on his hips and stared at him. “Make money how?”

  “There’s a truck comin’ in about an hour to round up pickers for the cotton fields. They say a big storm’s movin’ in and they’re payin’ extra for pickers. When the rains come in hard they ruin all the cotton plants.”

  “You can count me in,” I answered, “I picked cotton in Arkansas. I can teach Kelly, too.”

  “No you won’t,” Ace barked. “I want you and Kelly right here. Besides, it would be too dangerous out there for a young person with all those roughnecks.”

  “You mean dark-skinned folks?” I asked.

  I saw him wince a little. “I didn’t mean it that way,” he answered, “I mean, a young g…I mean boy…shouldn’t be workin’ out there.”

  “You could make a couple bucks, but it’s up to you,” said Oaf.

  I could see the expression on Ace’s face change from anger to curiosity. He looked at me again as if he was sizing me up. “We sure could use the money,” he said, “but it still ain’t a good idea.”

  “It’s just for one or two days, Mr. Kelly,” Oaf said eagerly. “I’ll watch after Will. I got a set of extra gloves for Kelly, too, if he wants to come along.”

  “I already have gloves,” Kelly piped up.

  “I’ll let ‘em go with you on one condition,” said Ace. “I don’t want William around your old man and you know why.”

  “He won’t be,” Oaf responded, “he don’t even know about this.”

  “I’m holding you responsible, Earl,” Ace said.

  Oaf smiled broadly, seeming to appreciate being called by his correct name. Then we were on our way.

  “Wait up a minute,” Ace called after us. “You’ll need a bigger hat or the sun will blister you out there. Those baseball caps ain’t big enough. Hold on while I fetch a couple straw hats.” H
e disappeared into his bedroom, then came out with a pair of hats. Kelly and I ran back to get them, then ran back toward Oaf.

  “Well, how about lunch?” Ace called out again. “You’ll have to eat.”

  “I already thought of that,” Oaf called back to him. “I packed a sack of baloney sandwiches.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Kelly and I were waiting at the edge of the Hoover Camp while Oaf got the hats and the lunch sack. Then we boarded an old truck that smelled like cattle. There was manure all over the floorboards. People crowded in behind us: men, women and kids, until the driver said he was full up and raised the tailgate.

  On the way to the fields, we passed where Captain Sykes lived. I saw the blue Model A parked in the circular driveway. Tommy had come back, I realized. I hadn’t thought about him recently, but I suddenly realized that Sara and I were still in danger. We were going to have to make another move, no matter how much we liked Ace and Kelly. The thought of school starting up in a month bothered me, too. Someone was bound to recognize us.

  The sun had come out by the time we got to the fields. Ace’s straw hat came in handy. I hated to wear the gloves Oaf lent me, but I finally gave in after my hands started blistering. By the end of the day I was about a couple bags short of what Oaf picked. The gloves had slowed me down. But the two dollars the foreman handed out to me after my bags were weighed would come in handy. Kelly picked even more than I did.

  I was so tired that night that I fell onto the couch with my clothes on and slept all night without waking. Everyone else slept outside as usual, but I didn’t even notice the heat or the noise from the church.

  The next morning, I woke up sore and stiff. I tried to stretch out the pain as I climbed to my feet. “You’ll get over that fast enough,” came a voice from the screen door. “The best thing for you is more work. The rain’s not here yet so they’re pickin’ again today.” It was Oaf standing there with his red hair and silly smile, acting like he was fresh as a daisy.

  Kelly, Ace and Sara were already up. As I made my way to the bathroom to wash up, I smelled coffee percolating in the old pot that Ace heated on a wood burning stove. Then I heard Ace tell Kelly to set another place at the table for Oaf.

  By the time I got there, they were eating scrambled eggs and toast. We hadn’t had eggs since we’d lived with our aunties in Arkansas. All that money from the cotton picking allowed Ace to buy some luxuries. I pitched into my eggs so fast that I finished the whole plate before the others.

  “Oink! Oink!” said Kelly, “you’re a hog.” He looked over at me with disgust. Then Ace gave me another portion and I finished that, too.

  I was feeling like a champion picker by the time we boarded the old truck again. Only just as the driver raised the tailgate, I saw the blue Model A come barreling by us. It looked like they were headed for Jack Wells’ place. I assumed it was Tommy Sykes driving. I was sure he didn’t see me, but I was shaking all the same. I thought he might be on to us. Maybe he knew we were living there with Ace and Kelly.

  All morning long I worried about Sara. I kept praying the day would end so we could hurry up and head for home. I guess the good Lord heard me. Right after our lunch break, the skies let loose with cannonballs and the rain fell like Noah’s deluge. I only made a dollar, but I was too worried to complain. I couldn’t get the blue Model A out of my mind. I kept remembering that terrible night at the Sykes’ house.

  After the pickers all climbed into the open truck again, the driver gave us a tarpaulin to pull over our heads. It wasn’t much protection but at least it kept our heads dry. By the time we reached 19th Avenue, the rain had slowed to a drizzle. Two miles away it was raining oceans but Ace’s street was dry as parchment paper.

  I piled out of the truck with the others and ran as fast as I could past the Wells’ place as I headed for Ace’s. Thankfully, the Model A was nowhere in sight, but as soon as I opened our front door I knew something was terribly wrong. I heard screaming from the backyard. Ace jogged out to meet us, looking scared. “Sara fell out of the Chinaberry tree,” he yelled, “her arm’s broken bad. We called the doctor but he ain’t showed up yet.”

  Then I ran around to the backyard and saw Sara. Her left arm was a bloody mess with a bone sticking out the middle of it. Her cheek was bloody, too. She’d torn a big chunk of skin off it, causing the blood to run freely.

  “Go across the street and find one of them church ladies,” Ace yelled at me. “They’ve got a car over there we can use. While you’re there, I’m gonna try to set her arm and stop the bleeding.” I was paralyzed as he ran to the lattice fence on the east side of the yard and broke off some slats. He carried them over to Sara, then pulled out a pocketknife and started whittling. “I’m making splints,” he said, “and you can’t help me. Just get one of the church ladies over here with her car, pronto! What’s the matter with you?”

  I came out of my daze and ran for the tent across the street. Stranger ran after me, barking the entire way. He went right into the tent with me where we ran smack into a big, gray-haired lady. She looked more like a truck driver than a church lady. She shooed Stranger out of the tent before I could say anything. “Dogs aren’t allowed,” she frowned. “It’s disrespectful to God.”

  “Sorry, ma’am,” I said, “but we got trouble across the street. My sister’s broke her arm bad and we have to get her to a hospital. We need you to take us in your car.”

  “It’s not running,” came another voice. It was Sister Maybelle. She had a towel wrapped around her head and another towel over her shoulder like she’d been washing her hair. She stood there for a minute, then spoke again. “Don’t worry, we can take the truck. You get your sister while Alex and me get it started. Hurry!” Then she grabbed the big lady by the arm and marched her toward the old Mack truck that sat by the tent.

  About then, a black ‘38 Ford pulled up and a well-dressed man climbed out carrying a bag. “I’m a doctor,” he said, “someone called me about a girl with a broken arm.”

  “That’s my sister,” I answered, “she’s across the street.”

  He and the church ladies followed me to our backyard. The doctor knelt down next to Sara, then stood up. “I’ll need ten dollars,” he said. “I can’t treat her unless I’m paid.”

  “Ten dollars,” the doctor said again. “I have a family to support.”

  “We don’t have it,” Ace answered. “If it’d happened yesterday, we could pay, but I‘ve used everything to pay my bills.” I glanced over at Sara’s doll. It was lying face-up in the grass not five feet from where Sara had fallen. Only if I opened it up and pulled out a wad of cash, they’d think I was a thief. If the doctor called the police, I thought, we’d for sure be taken back to the reformatory.

  The doctor shook his head, then picked up his bag up and walked away. “I’ve had enough of giving my services for free,” he said.

  “Wait up! I can borrow the money,” Ace yelled. The doctor got in his car as if he hadn’t heard. He turned the ignition, then hurriedly drove away.

  Ace tried straightening Sara’s arm, but the broken places wouldn’t come together. At least Sara wasn’t screaming—she’d passed out completely. After Ace finally got the bones set, he yelled at me. “Hold that arm steady now while I wrap these splints on.” I did as he asked while the church ladies and Kelly just stared at us.

  “Don’t you worry,” Ace said as he wrapped some old rags around the splint. “I’ve done this a few times before. I drove an ambulance in the big war. This’ll hold her ‘til we get her to the hospital. Goddamn that son-of-a-bitch that calls himself a doctor!’

  “The ladies are gonna take us in the truck,” I said. “Their car is broken down.”

  Ace seemed surprised as I led the way to the Mack truck. Sister Maybelle was up in the cab trying to start it, but the starter wasn’t turning the engine. “Battery’s dead!” she shouted. “Get the crank out, Sister Alex, and I’ll pray for some help.” The big lady, Sister Alex, pulled a crank out from under the tru
ck seat and carefully fitted it into the crank hole at the bottom of the Mack’s radiator.

  “Turn on the switch and hold down the clutch while I crank,” Sister Alex called up to Sister Maybelle, who was struggling in the cab.

  Ace stood there helplessly, holding Sara in his arms. For several seconds, Sister Alex tried turning the crank, the veins standing out on her thick neck and perspiration drops forming on her forehead. She couldn’t budge it.

  “Pray harder,” said Sister Maybelle. “God won’t let us down. His little angel needs some help.”

  “I am praying,” said Sister Alex, “but I need more elbow grease down here.” She looked at Ace. He came striding over to assist her, but frail as he was it didn’t do a bit of good. Finally I stepped ahead of him and grabbed onto the crank with Sister Alex. Together we pulled as hard as we could, but it barely moved.

  Then she turned her face to the sky and shook her fist. “Dear lord, I love you but there’s an end to my patience! I know you can hear me so get off your ass and do something!” The next time we tried the crank the truck roared to life. “Now get down from there and let me take the wheel,” she stormed at Sister Maybelle, “but put on the brake and be sure the damned thing’s in neutral.” Sister Maybelle slid over and let Sister Alex take the wheel. Then she assisted Ace as he lifted Sara into the big cab. I’d just climbed in behind Sara when Sister Alex let out the clutch, guiding the truck toward the street like a pro.

  Before we got to the clinic, it started to rain again, but that didn’t bother Sister Alex. She leaned her head out the window and continued to drive like a madwoman. “The wipers don’t work,” she said, “but the Lord’s with us. I’m not stopping.”

  Just as we got to Durango Street and made the turn onto the gravel, a motorcycle policeman lit out after us. He switched on his siren as he pulled up beside us and motioned us over. Sister Alex, still leaning out, screamed at him about going to the county clinic. He must have gotten the message because he pulled ahead of us and led us the rest of the way. It was pouring rain as we came up to that long, wooden building. Right then I started worrying that the head nurse might recognize us. The young policeman parked his motorcycle and helped Ace lift Sara down from the high cab. She’d started to cry again now that she’d regained consciousness. Her cheek had stopped bleeding but her face was pale as dust.