by Ed Helenski
Coming back here had been more of an emotional experience than I expected. Seeing all of my old haunts, especially those from my teen years, reminded me of how unhappy and angry I was then. I think of how my Mom used to tell me to bide my time and then shake the dust of this town off my feet. But I didn’t find out what I was looking for out there.
It strikes me how little I thought of those angry years when I decided to come back. I remembered going fishing with Bobby and our dads, and reading comic books outside Pickeral’s, but I didn’t remember the fights, the sadness of watching my dad drink away his nights in silence. I didn’t remember the night of my seventeenth birthday, when I went up on the hill and, fortified on whiskey stolen from Burley, I shouted down on the town a million oaths of hatred. It’s as if I had forgotten all that.
I’ve been pretty busy getting things ready for the next issue. I had the first one all set for some time, but now the weekly grind begins. It’s a lot of material for one man to put together each week. I secured the school lunch menu, and an activities calendar for the school year from Baldy Cooter, and will make those regular features. In the summer I will include Little League stuff and whatever other sports have made it here. For now, I need to talk to the Reverend about getting some church news (and I suppose showing up for services might be a good idea) and much as I hate the idea, ask Charlie Vickers for any input he might have as Town Manager. First Monday of each month the town has an open meeting, I expect to cover those as well. I better learn to watch my step.
I stopped out yesterday for a beer at Dewey’s and to get a six pack. I don’t plan on going into Shickley’s for a while yet, let that first column become history. Dewey just grunted when I asked if he read the paper, I didn’t pursue it. It was still early afternoon and I shared the place with Dewey and one other patron, a young black woman. I had never seen a black in The Corners, let alone a young woman. Dewey saw me looking at her and came over. “That’s Shawnte” he said in a low voice, “Want me to introduce you? She is here real regular if you have a taste for that” It occurred to me he was being very friendly of a sudden. I recalled from my school days that Dewey was rumored to run a hooker or two out of his place. I wondered if that was the case here. Best to not get entangled. I said no, I had to be going, gathered up my beer and left. I had enough troubles for my first week home.
Around the Corner Wednesday, September 13
Welcome back, Cornerite, to the second edition of our little experiment. I want to thank each and every one of you for making the first edition such a success. As you can see from the pages in your hand, I have been busy indeed, assembling all the wonderful material you have so kindly provided, as well as smooth talking you business owners out there, selling advertising space. I made a very straightforward deal with merchants here in Squid Corners, for the first year you only pay for every other week. I want to make sure that local news is supported by local business. That was the whole idea behind starting this paper.
It has been most gratifying to hear your comments on the first issue, and I want to assure you I have taken all your suggestions to heart. Many of you had positive things to say about having a paper here in town, and it made this writer feel good to know his efforts were appreciated. And quite a few of you had some suggestions for how to improve what is put on these pages. I thank you all as well, and hope that you see some of your suggestions implemented here.
Some new things you will notice: Thanks to Mr. Cooter over at James Buchanan we have a listing for school activities (Don’t miss the fourth grade bake sale on Friday or Mr. Buckley will be coming after you!) as well as the lunch menu for the coming week. No more having the same thing twice in one day, kids! Speaking of the school I had the pleasure of meeting Ms. Bettina Johnson, our second grade teacher. She had many wonderful things to say about the last issue, and makes me wish I could matriculate once again. I have a feeling all the little boys are learning their multiplication tables with little trouble these days. You will also see that I have included a community calendar, with information provided by Charlie Vickers, our helpful Town Manager. If you have any item you want to include in the community calendar just drop me a line, or stop in at the paper’s office on Main Street.
In spending this last week making the rounds of businesses and making sure the distribution system for the paper is working, I got to see a great many people, some of whom I knew, and some newcomers since last I was here. I have been gently reminded of some things by those of you who have been around The Corners all these years. My own Dad even had to point out a thing or two to me. You have all reminded me of one of the reasons why I wanted to come back to The Corners to start with.
Here in this town, and I would dare say in this part of the world, a man is judged by what he does and says. Mostly by what he does. Braggarts are quickly discarded, promises not kept are remembered, and respect is only given after it is earned. I have been confronted with the fact that I have not yet earned your respect. Many of you recall the young boy who left this town, eager to shake its dust from his feet and make a real mark on the world. You recall that younger me better, perhaps, than I do. And you have not hesitated to remind me of his shortcomings.
In the cities a person is most apt to be judged by his credentials, his degrees, diplomas and papers. A man is judged by the clothes he wears, the words he uses, the people he claims to know. A man there is judged by who he works for, how much money he makes, what he drives and who he sleeps with. I have returned wearing all the right clothes, with the right degrees, knowing the right people, driving the right car. And somehow thought I had already earned the respect. I was mistaken.
I have to work at building a new reputation in this town. One based on the good I can do here, the promises I can keep, the judgements I make. I plan to work very hard at this task, because Squid Corners is my home. I hope to spend my days here, working, living, and if I am lucky enough, loving.
This town is filled with good, honest people, and for that I am grateful. You are unafraid to speak your minds and that guidance will be irreplaceable to my success, indeed to OUR success with this venture. I can use all the help you can provide.
A few Thank Yous are in order today. I want to thank Charlesse and Corinne Schwartz for delivering these issues to your door. Be kind to your carrier. I want to thank my Dad for reminding me that just because I have forgotten the boy who left here doesn’t mean everyone else has. And I want to thank all the merchants who have kindly decided to take a chance and become a sponsor to this weeks issue: Pickeral’s, Paul Bunyan, Shickley’s, Wyscome’s, Vera Carrone Spiritual Advisor, and Doctor Tastler. Your support means a great deal to myself and to the town. Thank you.
Thomas Tharon
Chapter 3
I had quite an interesting dinner with Bobby Schwartz and his family, but before I write of that I want to set down some other encounters I had this week. As I settle into a routine here I find myself beginning to be let in, at least in a superficial way, to the town. I take most of my lunches at the Town Dinor, the only place to get food other than Steve’s Pizzeria (and subs!) which is more of a kid’s hangout. Folks go out to the places by the highway near Siegly if they want chain restaurants, or make the trip into DuBois or Clearfield. Suppers I generally make myself, after picking up fixings at the Paul Bunyan, where Vera Carrone eyes me with suspicion. But one thing at a time.
I think the comment in my last column about finding love, if I was lucky enough, was like the dinner bell to local single women. But that will be clear as this narrative continues. Some of the regulars at the Dinor have started to at least say “howdy” when they see me. One of the friendliest, other than Sara Jacobs, who waits table (more about her in a bit) was Josh Tastler. Or Doctor Tastler as most folks seem to call him here. Young Doc Tastler is what I imagine the old timers say. He has only been in town about 6 months, having taken Doc Clayborne’s practice. Doc died two years ago, but there were no takers on the practice till Josh. Everyone had been goin
g to the family medicine clinic in Siegly, or to the ER in DuBois. Josh and I ate together one day, and he told me a little about himself. He is here because the grant he got to go to medical School requires that he practice in a rural area of the state that lacks medical care. This county was one of the ones that qualified. He is from Philly, and admits that adjusting to The Corners has been tough.
“People just don’t let you in very quick. You know it was over three weeks before anyone made an appointment? I was just about nuts. After the hyperactivity of Hahneman, and then residency, this is just weird. I thought for a while I would have to fire Janice just to make ends meet, but things finally picked up after I set Josh Dunway’s broken wrist and he didn’t die from it.”
Janice is his nurse/receptionist. Bobby tells me she is a gold digger trying to get into Tastler’s pants but it could just be the typical rumor. I have not met her yet. I told Josh not to take the cold shoulder personally; I was from The Corners and was having a hard time getting let back in.
“You sure are. Even I have heard what people are saying, and I am pretty far outside the loop. Maybe we can help each other. I want to keep putting an ad in your paper, you know to sort of let folks know I’m open and they can stop driving to Buttfuck and back when they need an aspirin. But cash is not really flowing right now. How about I do some short little med piece each issue, you know, time for flu shots, warning signs of cardiac problems, that sort of shit? In trade you give me a little ad? What do you say?” Needless to say it occurred to me that our little lunch was more than just a friendly gesture on his part. Still, one hand washes the other and I agreed to try it for a while. I asked him for 250-300 words every week. I hope to get the first one in this week’s paper. I have to admit Tastler put me off a little. Something about him bothers me.
While I am writing about the Dinor I had better comment on Sara Jacobs. She’s 29, divorced several years, and wears the tightest uniform I have ever seen, displaying her ample, and plainly braless bosom. She never fails to lean in as far as possible to talk to me, and sometimes whispers in my ear, usually gossip about the other folks. For example she told me she was pretty sure Tastler was gay, she had tried to get his attention six ways to Sunday and he never took her up. And that poor little thing Janice, wasting her time trying to get him for herself. If the guy didn’t even notice a 22-year-old with a body like that, well, he must play for the other team. She also claims that Cindy Borougham, the town clerk, is a closet lesbian. I didn’t ask her how she was so sure. The mental picture was not entirely unpleasant. The upshot of all this is she wants to go out with me. She has offered to cook me a dinner on two separate occasions and I have politely declined, though I am not sure why. Next time she asks I may well say yes. Sex, casual or otherwise, has been lacking for several months now. I could use a little diversion.
I had a visitor at my office as well this week. That was a strange but nice surprise. Not anyone I would have expected, either. Meg Dunway, sister of the broken armed Josh Jr. came in to ask if she could deliver papers like the Schwartz girls. I told her they were able to take care of things for now, but she looked so crestfallen I said she could take care of keeping the racks at the stores stocked for five dollars a week. She perked up at that and let go with a ten-minute non-stop stream of words. It turns out she fancies herself a girl reporter, or a Nancy Drew, or some sort of thing, and what she REALLY wants to do is write stories for the paper, and investigate things, and she would be oh so good at it, and please, please, please, couldn’t she have a chance and she always so admired me for becoming a big city reporter and I was her idol and by the time she finished talking I had agreed to let her do a kid’s beat as a trial for a few weeks, 200 words, maybe a photo, and we would work something out for pay. She was absolutely delighted. Cute as a button, with dark hair, flashing brown eyes, and a smile that got bigger with every word she spoke. If I were to have a daughter I would hope it was someone like Meg. We ended up with me telling her about some of the big stories I broke and showing her the software and gear I use to make the paper. Maybe I am just starved for company, but it was the nicest couple of hours I have spent here so far. I told her to have her mom and dad call me and clear all this. Last thing I need is to be perceived of as hanging around with little girls with no supervision. Not in this day and age.
Larry emailed me with the latest gossip from the Courant. He concluded by saying “Things are really not the same here. You were always our moral compass. Now we are just a bunch of urbanites, wending our way to hell. Got any openings? Foxe” A strange bit of sentiment and philosophy from him.
But on to my dinner with Bobby. His wife Susan was vivacious and pretty; both of them work at the furniture plant. Their son Mike was quiet and somewhat surly, which is pretty normal for a fourteen-year old boy, I guess. There seemed to be some real tension between him and his dad. The girls were giggly and cute, and from what Susan told me are the town darlings, singing at the town fair, being in parades, and in general representing the youth of Squid Corners when such representation is called for.
We had meatloaf with mashed potatoes, green beans and fresh rolls, and I must admit my first response was to hold back a laugh at the Brady Bunch like meal, but that was just my city snobbery coming into play. It was actually pretty good. Reminded me of meals my Mom had made. After dinner Susan went with the kids to watch TV and Bobby and I had a couple beers in the garage while he pretended to tinker with his car. It was very different from the dinner parties I had gotten used to, where the sexes stayed mingled, and who ended up in what corner with whose spouse was the normal run of things. Standing around in an unheated garage drinking beer with a car hood up was a novel experience for me. Made me feel very prole.
“Looks like things are going a little better for you these days,” Bobby had said after we had decided no additional oil was needed in his minivan. “I think if you just take things slow you will fit in. Look at Doctor Tastler, it’s been six months and the old timers still won’t say hi to him.” I agreed and told Bobby about my deal with Tastler. “There you go,” he said, “You got to make folks a PART of what you do if you want them to be for it. Might be a good idea if you went and saw Reverend Doland before too long. Get the church on your side. Oh, and Reggie says he wants to see you about getting involved with some things he has going. You know he doesn’t have a lot to do as constable, but he is real involved with that PENN NET thing. Finding missing kids and runaways. I think maybe he thinks you can be a part of that.” I told Bobby that sounded good and I would talk to Reggie soon. We opened another couple beers and after a while Bobby told me some other things of interest.
“Rhonda’s been askin’ about you, you know. She’s Rhonda Fairchild now, married John not long after you left. Her kids are mostly grown now. Janice is off to school, and her boy will be soon. He wants to write. Did you know his name is Thom?” He pronounced the H. I said no, I hadn’t heard about it at all. My Dad had never once mentioned what had happened to my old flame, I assumed she had moved on long ago. “Her daughter Mellissa, now that girl is trouble in heels. She’s only 15 but I swear you would think she was 20. Her and that Sioban are always up to no good. Rumor has it Mac Taylor gives ‘em lessons in more than Swing Dancing if you know what I mean. Course Mac has to do something. That young wife of his been carrying on with Charlie Peters for a while now. Everyone knows it but Mac, I suspect.”
“Charlie Peters?” I asked, “You mean Chuck from down at Wyscome’s?” Bobby had nodded. “He is quite the muscular young stud. I can see why she goes for him. I suspect he keeps pretty busy most nights.” Bobby had given me an odd look when I said that, but didn’t comment. He looked a bit uncomfortable with the direction the conversation had gone. I told him about Meg wanting to write and he seemed amused by the thought.
“She and my girls don’t really get along too well. Some kid’s tiff, you know how it is. I asked the girls about it, but they just said Meg told them something nasty and they wouldn’t say another
word.” I was curious enough that I decided I would ask Meg when next we talked.
I told Bobby I wanted to do some columns on the history of the town, big events from the past, maybe on their anniversaries. He replied” That might not be such a good idea. Most things from the past are best left alone. I suppose if you mean long time back, before we were all around maybe that would be ok. Why don’t you go buy that old rummy Hurley a couple drinks? I’m sure he will tell you anything you want to know. Just don’t ask him about his boy Jason, or that whole business.” I was going to ask him what he meant when Susie popped her head back in and said that the girls were ready for bed, and would Bobby come tuck them in.
We went inside and Bobby went upstairs. Mike was still watching TV, and Susie came over to me and said in a conspiratorial voice “I wanted to get you alone.” For a moment I thought she was going to make a pass at me, and was beginning to think Squid Corners was a regular Peyton Place. But she just told me “Watch yourself around here. I know Bobby loves this town and wants you to be part of things, but you have to be careful in a town this size. I sure learned that. People watch you. And they all have their own agendas. So you keep your distance from that Amy Vickers. She has it in for you, God knows why. And Sarah Jacobs. You watch out. She is more than just a waitress, if you get my meaning.” I wasn’t sure if I did or not, but before I could ask Bobby came back down. I decided it was time to make my good-byes and head home.
So this has been an interesting week so far. The town is not exactly what I thought it was. As I walked down the hill towards Main I saw the town spread out before me in the dark. One part of me found the picture charming and romantic. There were all these houses scattered in the dark, little yellow oasis filled with warmth and family. A hundred meatloaves, a hundred televisions, like something from a Norman Rockwell painting. In the frosty fall air, the town seemed magical. Seen from a distance it was all so clean, so neat, so homey and American. But some of the things I had heard nagged at me. The things Bobby had said, and Susie. The agendas. Josh Tastler had certainly had one. It seemed like the openly hostile residents were less intimidating now, at least they were being honest. I wondered if perhaps it was the nice ones I had to watch out for. The idea of my small little island of rural safety was starting to be eroded. It was still an island, but I wondered if there might be headhunters.