Breaker Boy

by Joan Hiatt Harlow

  She took the coal and turned it over and over. “Thank you, Corey. This is a beautiful rock.” She looked up at Mom and Dad and said, “Your son has a delightful sense of wonder and curiosity. The need to learn and understand is natural with creative, bright children like Corey.”

  Mom looked at Dad, then got up quickly and left the room. Corey wondered if he saw tears in her eyes.

  Mrs. Chudzik polished the stone with her napkin, held it up to admire it again. “I will treasure your gift, Corey.”

  But when Mom came back into the room, the conversation about the future ended. Still, Mrs. Chudzik’s question lingered in Corey’s head.

  Later, Mom placed her delicious makowiec—sweet poppy cake that she only made for important occasions—on the table. She cut it into narrow slices and placed them on plates.

  “You must be Polish too,” Mrs. Chudzik said to Mom. “You certainly know how to cook like us.”

  “I learned from Joe’s mother, but I was born in Wales. My father worked in the coalfields in southern Wales. He came over here to work when I was about ten years old. Mom and I joined him later. Next time you come, I’ll cook a Welsh dinner—perhaps Welsh cawl.” She paused and looked down, embarrassed. “I don’t cook with lamb here, but it tastes fine with gammon—pork,” she explained.

  Pork is cheaper than lamb, Corey thought.

  Mrs. Chudzik was quiet for a moment, then said, “I notice you said ‘next time’ I come . . . ,” Mrs. Chudzik responded. “Will I be lucky enough to be invited again?”

  “Of course you will,” Mom promised, putting her arm around Mrs. Chudzik’s shoulder. “Many more times.”

  Mrs. Chudzik’s face brightened. “Oh . . . oh, that will be delightful.”

  “Tell us about your life in Poland,” Dad said as he passed the plates of poppy cake. “We heard you were a doctor.”

  “I still am,” Mrs. Chudzik answered. “Well, I feel I will always be a doctor, even though I don’t have a license here in Pennsylvania.” Her shoulders dropped. “It saddens me that my work and studies in Europe are not recognized here.”

  “What kind of medicine did you practice in the old country?” Mom asked.

  “I was privileged to study with a brilliant woman obstetrician, Anna Tomaszewicz-Dobrska.”

  “Oh, an obstetrician . . . a doctor who delivers babies,” Mom said.

  “Yes, Annie. I was hoping to be able to help midwives and mothers here in America.”

  Corey noticed a look between the two women—and a knowing smile. Does Mrs. Chudzik know that Mom is going to have a baby? How could she know?

  Mrs. Chudzik continued, “Dr. Dobrska also studied psychiatry, which is a fairly new field of medicine. For several years, she worked with a famous psychiatrist in Zurich’s hospital for the mentally ill. I was able to learn a lot from Dr. Dobrska as her colleague.”

  “You worked with mentally ill patients too?” Dad asked. “That’s the kind of disease that people don’t own up to—or talk about.”

  “It was thought at one time that seriously ill mental patients were hopeless, but we found that many could be helped.” She smiled sadly. “So you see, I had a good, rounded education as her colleague. However, it seems I will never be able to help people here in America.”

  “It is our loss, Mrs. Chudzik,” Mom said, reaching across the table and touching Mrs. Chudzik’s hand.

  Later that evening, Mrs. Chudzik recited an old Polish fairy tale for the boys, about pussy willows and how they came to be. She even joined the family singing Polish folk songs.

  Corey almost forgot about the boys from the mine and what they might be planning. He would find out soon enough!

  23

  Hogwash!

  Corey could not sleep Sunday night. He tossed and turned, thinking of all the things Mrs. Chudzik said about discovery and wonder, and about bright, creative children—like him! It was hard to imagine himself ever becoming a scientist or an engineer. That meant going to schools and colleges, which was impossible. He would never find the answers to the beginnings of the planet and life and things. His existence would be the same as his Dad’s and both his grandfathers’—in the mines. And that was that!

  He was tired and sleepy Monday. When the morning whistle blew, he dragged himself from bed to work.

  The older boys at the breaker were acting strange. Charlie, Paddy, and Frank stuck together like glue all day. Once again, they whispered to one another and stole curious looks at Corey.

  What is going on? Corey wondered. Whatever they were talking about, or what it was they had done or were about to do, he hoped it had nothing to do with Mrs. Chudzik. Finally, at lunch, once they had finished eating and were outside, Charlie, Frank, and Paddy came over to Corey.

  “So, did you get to go out ridin’ around in that fancy car this past weekend?” Charlie asked Corey.

  “No, but Mrs. Chudzik came over to our house for supper last night—in her touring car, of course,” Corey offered. He loved to see their amazement that Corey was actually friends with the rich, eccentric, and standoffish widow, and had even ridden in her automobile.

  “Aha! Did ya hear that, boys?” Charlie said to his friends. “The lady was over to Corey’s house for Sunday dinner.”

  “So that’s where she was. At the kid’s house,” Frank said.

  “Were you going to call on Mrs. Chudzik?” Corey asked. “Or are you schemin’ up something to do to her?”

  “Naw, course not,” Charlie answered. “We’re just curious.”

  “We’ve heard a lot of creepy stories about the lady, not just from you,” Frank said. “Everybody says she’s peculiar. So we decided we would go make a call on her. We hoped she’d invite us into her parlor.”

  “We were gonna say we’re good friends of yours,” Paddy added. “Since you and her are such good pals.”

  “You are not good friends of mine—and I am not her pal. She saved my life and she’s a nice lady,” Corey stated emphatically. In a softer voice, he asked, “So, what happened at her house?”

  “We knocked on the front door like any good neighbor—”

  Paddy interrupted Charlie. “That knocker could’ve raised the dead. And maybe it did! ’Cause the next thing we hear is that big wild dog of hers barking and howling at us.”

  “Yeah, that howl gave me the creeps,” said Charlie.

  “He was inside that door scratchin’ and growlin’,” Frank said. “Just waitin’ to tear us to pieces.”

  “Did you leave then?” Corey asked, hoping that was the end of the story.

  “Paddy was ready to run off,” Frank said scornfully.

  “We didn’t want to leave after goin’ all the way over to her part of town, so we decided to take a look inside,” Charlie explained. “We wanted to see if the stories were true . . . you know . . . about the coffin in the parlor.”

  Corey gulped. “Did you guys break into Mrs. Chudzik’s house? All because I told you a crazy story? I told you it was hogwash.”

  Charlie was insulted. “No, we wouldn’t break in. We are good, churchgoin’ Catholics. We would never do stuff like breakin’ into that old widow’s house. All we decided to do, since she wasn’t home, was to peek in a window.”

  Frank nodded. “We saw a window that was lit up on the side of the house.”

  “Mrs. Chudzik has electricity. Ain’t that somethin’?” Paddy interrupted. “We all use kerosene lanterns, but she has electricity.”

  “The window was close enough to the ground that we figured we could climb up and at least look inside.”

  “So?” Corey tried to picture just which room they were looking in.

  “I stood under the window and boosted Paddy up to look inside—since he’s the smallest,” Charlie said.

  The boys glanced at one another. “Corey won’t believe us,” Paddy said. “Nobody will believe us.”

  Charlie continued. “Paddy got up to the window and looked in, and he was so scared he screamed. . . .”

  �
��No, I did not scream,” Paddy insisted. “And I wasn’t scared.”

  “Oh, you screamed, all right,” Charlie maintained.

  “For Pete’s sake. What did you see, Paddy?” Corey asked. “Get on with it.”

  “Well, since Paddy was so scared he couldn’t talk, Frank lifted me up,” Charlie told him. “And I saw it too.”

  “Charlie was just as scared as me,” Paddy said accusingly. “All he could do was point to the window and stutter.”

  “I never stuttered,” Charlie snapped.

  “Then it was my turn,” Frank said. “Charlie boosted me, but he was shaking so hard I thought he would drop me, so I only got a quick glance in the window.”

  “So you never got to see a coffin, did you?” Corey said hopefully. “I told you. . . .”

  “No, we did not see the coffin. But we did see a skeleton,” Frank insisted.

  Corey laughed as he visualized Zerak grinning at the three terrified boys. “Sure you did.”

  “Don’t laugh. We really saw it—all three of us,” Charlie affirmed. “A real, live skeleton.”

  “No question about it. There was a skeleton,” said Frank. “And it’s not funny, Corey.”

  “So you all saw a real, live skeleton.” Corey could not speak for a moment, then he said, “You know that’s a story no one will ever believe.”

  “Well, we did see it,” Charlie insisted. “And it was most definitely a skeleton.”

  Paddy nodded. “And it wore a miner’s hat.”

  “You saw a real, live skeleton in a miner’s hat,” Corey said, laughing even harder.

  “Don’t you believe us?” Frank asked.

  “Yeah, sure.” Corey started to walk away. “Sure I believe you.”

  “Corey, you of anyone should believe it’s true. You saw a coffin and we saw a skeleton. It’s all true,” Paddy said. “All the things we’ve heard about Mrs. Chudzik.”

  “Yeah, a real, live skeleton wearing a hat, and a coffin in the parlor!” Corey shook his head. “Nobody with a brain in their head would believe a story like yours. And nobody with a brain in their head would believe a story like mine, either.” He walked away. “It’s all a lot of hogwash!”

  24

  Brawl

  On his way home from work on Monday, Corey met Anthony coming toward him. “Hey, Corey. I’m startin’ work at the breaker Tuesday—tomorrow!”

  “Good!” Corey called back. “But you’d better be prepared. Remember what happened to me on my first day.”

  As they walked along together, they made plans to outwit the breaker boys. “We’ll put your lunch in with mine in my lunch pail. They haven’t touched mine since my first day,” Corey suggested.

  “Sounds like a good plan,” Anthony agreed.

  “We’ll eat our lunch out in back of the fence that separates the breaker from the office building,” Corey said. “They’ll never know where you went.” He chuckled at the thought of outwitting Charlie and his friends.

  On Tuesday, as predicted, the boys found Anthony’s lunch pail and hid it. The joke was on them, because Corey and Anthony had eaten their lunch, and the boys who found the pail were probably disappointed that it was empty. Corey and Anthony had a good laugh. Anthony never got the greasing that Corey had to endure, but he did suffer painful, bleeding sores on his hands.

  Anthony cringed as he washed his hands in the washroom. “I have some good ointment to put on that,” Corey told him, taking the small jar of ointment from his pocket.

  “Hey, where can I get that stuff?” Charlie asked, watching as Corey smeared the salve on Anthony’s hands and fingers.

  “You can’t buy it in a store,” Corey told him. “Mrs. Chudzik made it for me.”

  “Oh, really?” Charlie said, coming closer. “Is it her own homemade remedy?”

  “It’s soothing, and then the cuts and bruises go away in a short while,” Corey said. “I think it toughens your hands too, so they don’t get as sore anymore.”

  “Look at this.” Anthony held up his hands. “The redness is almost gone already.”

  “Well, now we know for sure,” Charlie announced as he grabbed the jar of ointment from Corey and held it up for all to see. “Mrs. Chudzik is a witch!”

  “Mrs. Chudzik is a doctor,” Corey said, trying to seize the jar. “Stop spreading those stupid rumors about her!”

  “Then she’s a witch doctor! And you’re gonna become a warlock,” Charlie yelled for everyone to hear.

  Corey grabbed hold of Charlie’s sleeve and pulled him closer. “You ugly goop! You and your friends got nothin’ to do but make fun of an old lady and peek in her window at night.”

  Charlie threw the jar across the room, where it dropped onto the floor and shattered.

  “Now look what you’ve done,” Corey yelled as he pushed Charlie hard in the chest, knocking him to the ground.

  Charlie didn’t move for a moment, then rolled over, breathing hard. “You knocked the breath outta me. I’m gonna get you for that!” He pulled himself up and was about to clobber Corey, when—SMACK! Corey beat him to the punch with another blow to the chest. By now most of the boys were taking sides and punching one another.

  “FIGHT! FIGHT!”

  The boss burst into the room, looking from one to another at the fighting boys, wondering who to blame for the riot. Then he grabbed his stick and set to whacking the brawlers. “Stop it! Knock it off!” he yelled with each blow. “You’ll all be penalized for this! Get back to work before you lose your jobs!”

  After a few minutes, the fight came to an end, but there were only a few breaker boys without a black eye or a bloody nose.

  25

  Truce

  Both Anthony and Corey had bruises and bloodshot eyes and hurt all over where the boys had punched them. The fight stopped, but Charlie, Frank, and Paddy and their pals hollered all afternoon that they would get even. Finally, after an hour’s lecture on fighting by Mr. McBride in the main office, the boys who took part in the squabble got sent home early and had their pay docked.

  Corey decided he wouldn’t go home yet. He’d walk along with Anthony.

  “Want to come with me to see Mrs. Chudzik?” Corey asked. “She might have more of that ointment. You’ll see what a great lady she is.”

  Anthony shook his head. “I just want to go home. I’m hurting from the fight, and my hands are killin’ me. Now I’m thinkin’ I might work as a spragger instead of a breaker boy.”

  “You need to make up your mind that no job at the mine is perfect. Besides, not all the breaker boys are bad eggs,” Corey said. “It’s just those few who think they’re the big cheese . . . like Charlie and Paddy. . . .”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know. I’ve had enough of them.”

  “They didn’t grease you, like they did to me, and I didn’t quit,” Corey reminded him. “I’ll bet you by tomorrow they’ll be over this fight and won’t even remember what it was about.”

  “Just the same, I don’t like what happened today, and I think I’d like to be a spragger instead of a breaker boy. Besides, spraggers get more money. I’m gonna talk to my pa tonight about switching jobs.” He ran down the hill to his house.

  Corey kicked a stone as he recalled his ride down the chute with Mr. McBride. He would never get a job down in the mine. Not after that day.

  He thought about becoming a spragger too. Spraggers needed to be fast and nimble. Anthony was fast. He always won races in the Labor Day games and probably would do well as a spragger.

  A spragger would run alongside the speeding coal cars and insert sprags into the wheels, which would act like brakes until the cars stopped. He recalled that one of his school chums who became a spragger wasn’t nimble enough or fast enough and lost his hand in the spokes of a fast-moving car. Corey was good with his hands, but he would probably fall flat on his face if he raced one of the coal carts. Besides, that job was deep inside the mine.

  It was no use—he couldn’t change jobs until he got over the phobia, and th
at might never happen. He’d just have to get along with Charlie and his sidekicks. The other breaker boys never caused any trouble—unless Charlie egged them on.

  He heard footsteps behind him. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Charlie, Paddy, and Frank coming his way. This was not the route they usually took to go home.

  Frank called, “Hey, Corey. Wait up.”

  Corey wondered what he should do. If he ran, he’d look like a sissy. If he stopped, Frank, Paddy, and Charlie might just clobber him again. He took a chance and slowed down, swaggering a little so at least he wouldn’t appear to be scared.

  “Look, I don’t want to fight anymore,” he told the boys in a calm voice.

  “Hey, neither do we. Let’s call a truce, okay?” Charlie held out his hand. “We have more important things to think about.”

  “Like what?” Corey shook Charlie’s hand warily.

  “Ain’t ya heard?” Charlie said. “Everything is half price at Sans Souci Park this weekend. It’s got somethin’ to do with raising money for the new hospital. I heard the mine is payin’ the other half.”

  “Yeah, can ya believe the mine doin’ that?” Paddy butted in.

  Frank rolled his eyes. “They like to look good in the community.”

  “We’re all goin’. Are you?” Charlie asked.

  “I wish I could. I love goin’ to Sans Souci Park. But I can’t. If there’s no work, I have to stick around and help my mother. Why are you asking me?”

  “Before you say no, listen to me. There’s gonna be an exhibition ball game between the two best breaker boy teams on Sunday at the field next to the carnival.”

  “It’s to raise money for the hospital too,” Paddy cut in.

  Charlie rolled his eyes. “Never mind all that. Listen, kid. That friend of yours, Anthony? He says the two of you are good players—that he’s a good pitcher, and you’re a good hitter. So let’s throw all our rows and quarrels aside and get a good team together. Whadda ya say?”

  Frank spoke up. “The Black Gold Colliery breaker boys beat us for the championship last year.”