Alvin Fernald, Superweasel

by Clifford B. Hicks

  Silence, except for the river gurgling at their feet. Then, “You may not believe what I’m going to say, Alvin, but it really is the truth. I changed my mind. I suddenly realized that I hated doing those awful things, even though I did them. Then I got in a big argument with my father, about the pollution, and about his lies. He began shouting at me. He said it was none of my business what happened at the chemical plant. I said it was everybody’s business. I-I-well, I began to cry for the first time in three or four years, Alvin. I ran to my room. Later that night, I came up the river, up to here. By then, of course, thanks to you and the newspaper articles, my father had been forced to stop polluting the water.”

  Windy waved his hand at the water trickling along beneath their feet. “I took your dam apart. The water smells good out here now.”

  Another silence.

  “What were you doing on the fire escape, Windy?”

  “I’d made up my mind to tell everyone what I’d done. I was going to do it tonight, from the fire escape, where everybody could hear me. And I’m still going to do it. I’m going to pay for all that damage I did.” Windy took a couple of steps along the stream bed, then stood motionless. “I don’t mean that my father will pay for it. That wouldn’t mean anything. I’ll pay for it, with money I earn myself, even if it takes a hundred thousand years!”

  What a mess, thought Alvin. And all because I accidentally pushed him in the river, and his father told a lie. In a way, Windy was only partially to blame for what had happened. And he certainly had learned his lesson.

  Alvin cleared his throat. “I really don’t think it will take that long, Windy. I’ll help you find some summer jobs. Shoie and my sister will help, too. With all of us scouting around, I’ll bet we can find you so many jobs that you’ll have the damage all paid for by the middle of the summer.” He grew more enthusiastic. “Yep. We’ll repay every penny. Then Superweasel can vanish with a clear conscience!”

  “But Superweasel isn’t going to just vanish. At least this one isn’t. I’m going to tell Mr. Moser that I’m the one who did all the damage. He’ll put it in the paper. Then everyone will know.”

  “Let’s think about that for just a minute, Windy. I suppose you’re right. You’ll never feel right until you admit that you’re the vandal. But if you announce it right now, then everybody who had any damage will go to your father for payment. And he’ll pay off.” Alvin looked sympathetically at the other boy. “It isn’t your fault your old man is rich, Windy. But he is rich. And he’ll try to use his money to help you out.”

  “You’re right. He’ll punish me, but he’ll insist on paying for all the damage.”

  “Okay. Then the only thing to do is to keep your identity secret until after you’ve paid off every penny. Then you can go to Mr. Moser and tell him everything.”

  After a long silence, Windy said, “I suppose you’re right. I really want to pay for that damage all by myself, Alvin.”

  Alvin looked straight at Windy. He held out his fist, thumb sticking straight up. “Grab my thumb, and then stick up your own thumb, Windy.”

  Perplexed, Windy did as he was told.

  “Power to Superweasel!” intoned Alvin.

  “Power to Superweasel!” Windy’s voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. “And thanks to Superweasel, too.”

  “Come on, Windy,” Alvin said. “It’s time to bury Superweasel forever.”

  They struggled out of their costumes. Alvin found a large rock beside the stream and, pushing together, they managed to tip it on its side. In the hollow beneath the rock they laid the two costumes. For a moment they both looked down. The two masks grinned up at them. Then, without another word, they tipped the big rock back into place.

  Superweasel was gone forever, joining all the other legendary superheroes.

  Chapter 19

  A Grade for Superweasel

  It had taken a century and a half for Riverton to accumulate all that junk, from horseshoe nails and old plow handles to TV sets and electric toothbrushes. It’s not surprising, therefore, that it took the town’s two garbage trucks more than three days just to cart the stuff away from City Hall and properly dispose of it.

  Suddenly the citizens of Riverton had an intense new pride in their town. Vacant lots that once had been neighborhood dumps now revealed, for the first time in decades, the budding beauty of spring vegetation. Streets and alleys were clean. A week before, almost any resident would have flipped an empty cigarette pack or candy-bar wrapper into the gutter. Now the mere fact that the gutter was clean made him pause, then stuff the wastepaper into his pocket. And if he did toss it into the gutter, some other citizen was likely to remind him, gently but firmly, that Riverton was the cleanest town in America. And it must be kept that way.

  Other things happened, too, like ripples going out from a stone tossed into Three Oaks Pond. The story of the kids’ sensational clean-up campaign reached the Governor’s ears, and he made a special visit to Riverton to declare it the state’s Model City of the Year. Mayor Bienfang, giving the kids full credit, stated: “Other politicians may question the behavior of today’s youth, but not once have I lost faith in the children of Riverton.”

  The City Council voted funds for one hundred sparkling new trash cans to be placed throughout the city. (It also voted funds to repair some mysterious but minor damage to the City Council’s chambers.)

  The Elks Club, in cooperation with the Riverton Boy Scouts, organized a recycling center where citizens could turn in their wastepaper, bottles and cans for resale to manufacturers, thus preserving natural resources while keeping the town litter-free.

  Mr. Bilzer sold eighteen trash compactors in one week, and tried to hire Theresa Undermine as a permanent salesgirl.

  Mayor Bienfang was so carried away that, for the fourth time, he applied to the federal government for funds to help build a new sewage treatment plant; the city had outgrown the capacity of the existing one. This time, however, he bravely addressed the application directly to the president, and enclosed some newspaper clippings. The request was promptly granted.

  The owner of the gas station at the corner of Main and York offered a free analysis of any car’s exhaust to find out whether the car was a dangerous polluter.

  Windy Biggs’s father, having felt the heat of bad publicity, announced that the Biggs Chemical Company was contributing $5,000 toward the stocking of Three Oaks Pond “so Riverton children can once more have the age-old fun of catching fish.” Fingerlings were promptly turned loose in the pond by the thousands.

  Finally, Old Grandpa Hein, who had been hard of hearing for twenty-five years, announced in a letter to the editor that noise, too, was a form of environmental pollution; that people shouldn’t disturb other people by shouting; and that he therefore (at long last) was buying a hearing aid.

  More intriguing to the citizens, though, was speculation as to the identity of Superweasel — or rather, two Superweasels. Virtually the entire town had seen the drama unfold on the fire escape that night. Furthermore, the disappearance into thin air of the two identical figures was not just baffling — it was incredible.

  In a column for the Daily Bugle Mr. Moser pointed out that a Superweasel impostor apparently had committed the acts of vandalism; and that the real Superweasel, thanks to his fight against pollution, had made Riverton a considerably cleaner city. “Our hearts and thoughts go out to that masked figure, wherever he may be, in his unceasing battle to clean up our planet.”

  And in that same issue of the Daily Bugle, just beside Mr. Moser’s column, appeared a letter that made the citizens of Riverton even more curious about the two Superweasels who had so mysteriously vanished:

  To the Editor:

  I, Superweasel Number Two, am entirely to blame for all the recent acts of vandalism. The real Superweasel had nothing to do with them.

  To make amends for that damage, I am asking Mr. Al Moser of the Daily Bugle to supervise a special “Superweasel Fund.” Anyone who suffered loss through my d
estructive acts should promptly let Mr. Moser know how much money it will take to pay in full for the damage. Over the next several weeks I will send Mr. Moser money which I have earned — money which will enable him to pay these bills. Finally the slate will be clean.

  As soon as the last penny is paid, I will reveal my identity as the imitation Superweasel. And I hope, at that time, that the real Superweasel also will unmask himself, for we owe him a great deal. Riverton is a far better town because of his mysterious visits to fight pollution.

  (Signed) Superweasel Number Two

  Alvin had dreaded this moment for weeks. Shoie and Windy had dreaded it, too. It came during the final week of school.

  Most of the kids had already given reports on their antipollution projects.

  Now Miss Miles nodded at Windy. “Oliver, you may now report on your environmental work.”

  “Uh, I’m afraid I didn’t do much to help the environment, Miss Miles.”

  “But Oliver. I thought you were distributing literature to housewives about harmful chemicals in their detergents.”

  “Uh, yes, Miss Miles, I guess I did a little of that. But not very much.” He lifted his head and looked directly at her. “I don’t really deserve a passing grade.”

  The class gasped.

  “Ummmm. Well, at least you are honest about it.”

  She nodded at Shoie. “And you, Wilfred?”

  There was an agonizing silence. Then Shoie said in a low voice, “Alvin and I planned something, but it didn’t turn out the way we planned.”

  “At least you can share your plans with the class.”

  Another pause. “No I can’t.”

  “Why not, Wilfred?”

  “Just can’t.”

  “And you, Alvin?”

  Alvin struggled up straight in his seat. “Like Shoie says.” He crossed his legs and picked at the worn spot on the heel of his right sneaker.

  “Is that all you have to say?”

  “Yes. Except Shoie and Windy and I helped clean up the litter and take it to City Hall.”

  “I hope you’re telling the truth, Alvin. I saw you arrive there with nothing but a paper sack.”

  “Well —” Alvin’s mind was a blank. “Well, I got rid of what was in the paper sack.” Then, more thoughtfully, “Yep, I sure did get rid of what was in that sack.”

  The bell rang. Kids shuffled to their feet. Papers and books disappeared into desks.

  “I’ve given each of you a grade on your antipollution project, along with some comments,” said Miss Miles, her voice rising above the din. “You can pick up your grades on the way out. Alvin, Wilfred and Oliver — I want to see you for a few minutes after school.

  The three boys waited in agony while the rest of the kids picked up their grades. Theresa Undermine squealed in mock surprise at the “A” on her sheet of paper, even though Theresa always got “A” in everything. Worm Wormley was proud of his “B–.”

  Finally all the other kids were gone, and silence fell across the classroom. Alvin squirmed at his desk.

  Miss Miles, seated behind her desk, looked up at the three boys. “I asked you to stay,” she said brightly, “because I didn’t want the rest of the class to know the grades that I am giving you for your antipollution projects. I didn’t think you’d want those grades known.” She held up three slips of paper.

  Here comes the bad news, thought Alvin. We’ve flunked. He and the other two boys approached her desk.

  There was a very large “A” on Alvin’s paper. Just beneath, in Miss Miles’ neat handwriting, appeared the sentence, “Thanks for a wonderful antipollution project, which took a great deal of imagination.”

  Alvin was astounded. He glanced across at Shoie’s paper. It was identical to his.

  He looked up at Miss Miles. Her eyes were shining brightly and there was a proud smile on her face.

  Alvin stared at her. Finally a thought flashed through the old M.B., and a smile flickered across his face, too. “Then you know our secret?” he asked.

  “What secret?” she said innocently. “All I know is what I observe.”

  She turned and picked up a piece of chalk. Across the blackboard she wrote, “Who knows what vengeance Superweasel will take against defilers of our planet? Beware, polluters! Someday Superweasel may strike again!”

  Miss Miles carefully replaced the chalk and turned around, the smile still on her face, a twinkle in her eye.

  She turned to Windy. “I had to give you an ‘Incomplete’ on your project, Oliver, for reasons I think you can readily understand. However, I imagine you’ll complete your project sometime this summer.” She paused. “Incidentally, Mr. Moser has offered to keep me posted on the Superweasel Fund. I imagine you’ll complete your project just about the time that Mr. Moser pays for the damage that some unknown person did.”

  Windy was gazing at the floor.

  “Okay, kids. See you tomorrow. Last day of school.”

  It was the first time she had ever called them kids. It was a fine sign.

  It was a fine day, too. The boys sailed down the school steps in a single bound, and ran down Maple Street together. The early summer sun felt comfortably hot on Alvin’s back. He reached inside his pocket and pulled out a package of gum.

  Up ahead he could see a crow circling an incredibly blue sky. How great it would be to have the freedom of a crow... He handed Shoie and Windy each a stick of gum. Then he flapped his arms once, held them straight out, and soared across the street. The other two flapped along behind.

  “Let’s go out to Three Oaks Pond,” Alvin said, catching his breath. “Maybe we can spot some of those fish they turned loose.”

  The three boys headed down Maple Street. Absently, Alvin squeezed the gum wrapper into a ball, and dropped it in the gutter.

  Instantly both Shoie and Windy broke stride, and stooped over to pick up the wrapper. Their heads bonked together, and they staggered off in opposite directions.

  A small voice piped up from just behind them:

  Little Bo-Peep

  Has found a heap

  Of refuse in the gutter;

  She stuffs it in

  The corner bin

  “Right on!” shouts her mutter.

  “‘Mutter?’” groaned Shoie, holding his forehead.

  “Sure. You know. Like your mom. Mutter.”

  The little figure tagged along after the three boys.

  Alvin Fernald, ex-Superweasel, led the way toward the cold, clear waters of Three Oaks Pond.

  Author’s Note from

  The Marvelous Inventions of Alvin Fernald

  From their own lives, authors often borrow characters, incidents and even names for their fiction. That certainly is true of The Marvelous Inventions of Alvin Fernald.

  My wife was born in a small Iowa town named Fernald. Shoie was named for a close friend, a fellow Marine who died in my arms during World War II. Riverton, Indiana, was patterned after Marshalltown, Iowa, where I grew up.

  Mrs. Huntley was a real person who lived alone in a house just down the street from where I lived. The house was haunted — at least that’s what we kids thought. And yes, the real Mrs. Huntley believed her dead husband had returned as a bird. That’s why she fed the birds in her weed-grown yard so regularly.

  Alvin’s personality is a blend of my own three sons, with the characteristics of a couple of my childhood friends mixed in. My sons had an ‘inventing bench’ in our basement which produced a series of wild new products, some useful and others somewhat lethal. Indeed, as I was writing Marvelous Inventions, one son was developing a new howitzer to shoot dried peas, using a mousetrap as a propellant. Another son was working on a fireplace lighter; you pulled a lever, which turned a wheel, which moved a special part from an Erector set, which rubbed a match against a piece of sandpaper and then stuck the lighted match into the fireplace. Obviously a big step up from an ordinary match.

  And yes, when my friends and I were about Alvin’s age we invented some of the m
arvelous inventions you’ll find in this book.

  At one time during my writing career I became Editor-in-Chief of Popular Mechanics magazine. This also helped me to see into the corners of an inventor’s mind.

  During my career as a writer I have become grateful, most of all, to you, my readers. I have enjoyed your criticisms as well as you compliments. I still receive and exult in correspondence from readers, now adults, who read Marvelous Inventions when it was first published 45 years ago. I hope you enjoy this special edition as much as they seemed to enjoy the first edition.

  I have written 15 juvenile books, nine in the Alvin Fernald series, three about a rascally kid named Peter Potts, and two nonrelated books. Disney Studios bought the film rights to four of the Alvin Fernald books, and produced two movies based on the characters. I also have written a stageplay about Alvin that is currently being produced in children’s theaters around the country.

  My wife and I live in the forested mountains of western North Carolina, where I enjoy hiking, fine woodworking, reading — and yes, a bit of writing.

  Clifford B. Hicks

  July, 2005

  Preview of The Marvelous Inventions of Alvin Fernald

  Chapter 1.

  The Sure Shot Paper Slinger

  Alvin awoke with a start the instant the string jerked his big toe. Quickly, he reached down and turned off the alarm clock before his toe turned purple.

  Each morning a jerk on his big toe woke up Alvin Fernald. Alvin was a Great Inventor, and the string was one of his inventions. It ran to an alarm clock which he had bolted to the foot of his bed. He had removed the alarm bell so it wouldn’t wake his parents. When the alarm went off each morning it wound up a string which was tied to his big toe. Sometimes the toe became purple before he could turn off the alarm, but otherwise the Silent Waker Upper worked fine.