Finding parents for a parentless boy was her favorite thing in the world, and she prided herself on putting together the right matches. She was good at it. In fact, the only time she’d failed in her long career was with Ernie, but she most certainly didn’t think that was her fault. Either he misbehaved, or he frightened the other children, or he just didn’t fit in. Never mind the reason, defeated parents always had a good excuse for returning him.
Mrs. McGinty rinsed her cup and saucer, then started up the back stairway, passing the fourth- and fifth-floor dormitories, where the younger boys resided. The boys twelve and older slept on the sixth floor and she woke them first. She huffed up to the final landing and opened the door to the dorm.
Mrs. McGinty stood in the threshold, taking in the stares of twenty-five boys all eagerly awaiting the Christmas festivities. Usually it was a chore to get them up and out, but today everybody was dressed and the beds were already made.
“Good morning, boys. Merry Christmas,” she said.
“Good morning, Mrs. McGinty,” the Lakesiders chorused in well-practiced unison. “Merry Christmas.” These orphans knew that the best way to survive at Lakeside was to obey the rules and please Mrs. McGinty.
Her gaze zeroed in on Ernie, who was laughing with Nate LeCroix at the back of the room.
“Ernie Banks,” she called. “Might you have any idea who ate the cookies and drank the milk we left by the tree?”
Ernie answered without blinking. “I wouldn’t know, Mrs. McGinty. Probably Santa Claus.”
The others snickered, but McGinty silenced them with an icy look. She knew that no other boy would ever turn him in. Ernie had been at Lakeside longer than anyone else and he’d earned a certain respect with his seniority. She’d also heard the whispers. Although Ernie was small for his age, he never gave up when he got in a fight. It wasn’t a good idea to squeal on Ernie Banks.
“Oh, that’s very funny, lad, very funny indeed,” she said. “But in my book that’s stealin’, plain and simple. You’ll be mopping the kitchen floor right after breakfast.” A thin smile cracked her face, then she clapped her hands twice. “Line up, boys.”
Everybody scrambled to form two lines facing the door. Mrs. McGinty waited until everything was absolutely quiet. Only when she was satisfied did she lead the boys out of the dorm and down the stairs.
The Lakeside orphans enjoyed a breakfast of pancakes and scrambled eggs in the cavernous third-floor dining room. There was even hot chocolate. Usually it was oatmeal or cold cereal and toast. But today was special.
Ernie and Nate sat next to each other, wolfing pancakes smothered in maple syrup. When Ernie’s plate was clean, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a couple of chestnuts.
“My last two. I saved them for Christmas.”
“From that tree on Fourth?”
Ernie nodded.
“I can’t believe you still have chestnuts from September. What are you, a squirrel?”
“Maybe,” he answered, grinning. “Want one?”
“No thanks. Why do you even like those things?”
He shrugged. “I just do.”
Nate reached under his seat and gave Ernie a bag from Cleary’s Sports Shop. “Merry Birthday,” he said with a grin.
Although today was his thirteenth birthday, Ernie expected it to be lost in the Christmas festivities, as usual. McGinty had made Christmas his birthday because that was the day she’d found him.
Ernie opened the bag and pulled out a brand-new baseball cap. He held it in his hands as if it might break. He’d never gotten a gift from a friend before, and this was an authentic Chicago Cubs cap. He touched the red C on the front with his fingertips.
Nate smiled. “I would have bought you the whole uniform, but they didn’t have your size. Try it on.”
With a big grin, Ernie put on his new cap. The one thing he and Nate shared above all else was baseball. They both loved it, especially Ernie. Maybe it was because of his namesake, the legendary Hall of Famer Ernie Banks, or the fact that Wrigley Field was just down the street. Whatever it was, they both had it bad. The Cubs were Ernie’s team and the Cardinals were Nate’s, and they could talk baseball anytime, anyplace, anywhere.
From day one they’d spent hours and hours playing catch in the alley. Nate had been an all-star catcher on his Little League team in St. Louis. Ernie had always wanted to try out for Little League, but McGinty wouldn’t allow it. Nate said it was a rotten deal because Ernie was the best pitcher he’d ever caught. He would get in his crouch, flash a sign, then Ernie would wind up on his imaginary mound and let fly. He had a decent curve, but nobody had a better fastball than Ernie. At least that was Nate’s opinion. When they weren’t calling balls and strikes, they were poring over Ernie’s baseball card collection. He’d been collecting for almost five years, saving every penny, nickel, and dime from his meager Lakeside allowance and spending it on cards.
Ernie gave his friend a big bear hug.
“You’re welcome.” Nate laughed. “Now let me finish my eggs.”
Suddenly Mrs. McGinty swooped behind them and delivered her famous “Irish Uppercut,” which meant she took her hammy fist and pounded it on the top of each boy’s head. They both winced, pretending it hurt more than it really did.
“You’d better stop your shenanigans,” she scolded. She swiped the cap from Ernie’s head and threw it in his lap. “No headwear at the breakfast table. Even you should know better than that.”
“But…”
“Another word and you’ll be cleanin’ bathrooms all day,” she warned.
As soon as she was gone, Nate scrunched up his face and did an uncanny impersonation. “You’ll be cleanin’ bathrooms all day…and using my fat head as a mop!”
That got Ernie laughing, and his laughing got Nate laughing. Tears rolled down their cheeks and their stomachs hurt from trying to hold back their laughter.
After Ernie finished mopping the kitchen, he sat next to Nate among a throng of boys in front of Lakeside’s spindly Christmas tree. He adjusted his new cap as he waited expectantly to receive his present. One by one, they were called to the front, where Mrs. McGinty, wearing a Santa hat, doled out presents like a strict teacher giving out a set of bad report cards. Ernie reached into his pocket, pulled out a candy cane, and offered it to his friend.
“Where’d you get that?” asked Nate.
“Off the tree. I didn’t think Santa would mind,” he replied slyly. Before Nate could take it, Ernie passed one hand in front of the other and made it disappear.
“I can never figure how you do that,” said Nate. “Okay, where is it?”
Ernie shrugged, then reached under Nate’s armpit. “What’s it doing here?” he asked in mock surprise as he pulled out the candy cane.
“Ernie Banks,” called McGinty.
He thought he was about to be reprimanded again, but instead it was his turn to receive a gift. He slipped the candy into Nate’s pocket and hustled to the front.
“Thanks, Mrs. McGinty,” Ernie said as she handed him his present. He tried to take it, but she wasn’t letting go.
“Just be glad it’s not a lump of coal,” she said, then finally released her grip. “Merry Christmas.”
Ernie ripped off the wrapping before he even sat down. It must have been a mistake or an amazing stroke of luck, because it was exactly what he wanted. A Rocky Harmon wristwatch! He was the star home run hitter of the Chicago Cubs. Ernie set the time by the clock on the wall. Rocky’s arms twisted like a contortionist to point out the minutes and hours. Strapping it on his wrist, he decided it was the best gift he’d ever received, except for his portable radio from the year before, and of course his new Cubs cap.
When it came time for Nate’s gift, Mrs. McGinty looked instead at Ernie and smiled a peculiar smile that he didn’t understand. Not until she said, “Nate LeCroix won’t be opening a Christmas present this year. Instead, he’ll be getting a new family. Come on up, Nate, and join your parents.”
&
nbsp; Into the room stepped the Goodmans, a well-dressed, middle-aged black couple Nate had met with several times. Nate shared a look with Ernie. Ernie knew his friend had liked them a lot, but they didn’t say much about it because it was dangerous to hope for things when you were an orphan.
Nate walked shyly toward the Goodmans until they wrapped him in a warm embrace. Everyone applauded. Ernie sat frozen like a deer caught in headlights. He felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Kathryn Moss, the young social worker. She was pretty and funny and all the boys liked her, even Ernie, though he tried not to show it.
“You okay, Ernie?” she asked.
He swallowed the lump in his throat, then nodded. Kathryn didn’t say anything more, but she sat beside him while Mrs. McGinty handed out the rest of the presents.
Up in the dorm, Ernie watched as Nate packed his belongings. They both knew they’d probably never see each other again. It was Ernie who broke the silence.
“Your new mom and dad look nice,” he said.
“Yeah,” answered Nate, without looking up.
Ernie wanted to do something for Nate, but he just wasn’t sure what. Suddenly he reached under his bed and pulled out a shoebox that was hidden in the bedsprings. It contained his prized baseball card collection, with full teams and plenty of doubles for trading. He handed it to Nate. “This is for you.”
Nate shook his head. “No way.”
Ernie was adamant. “I want you to have them.”
“Aw, Ernie, I can’t. It’s too much.”
“No, man, they’re yours now. You keep ’em.”
“Are you sure?”
Ernie nodded. “I’m sure.”
They tapped fists, then Ernie presented his thumb. With a grateful nod, Nate pressed his thumb tight against Ernie’s, then they rotated a quarter turn. “Brothers,” they whispered.
Mrs. McGinty bustled into the dorm, interrupting them. “Let’s go, Nate, no time to socialize, the Goodmans are waiting.”
“I have to go,” said Nate.
“Yeah,” answered Ernie, sadder than he’d ever felt before. He touched his heart, then reached out to touch Nate’s. He wasn’t sure why he did it, but the look in Nate’s eyes told him it was okay. His friend balled his fist and tapped him back, then tucked the shoebox under his arm, picked up his suitcase, and started across the room.
Ernie called out, “Way to go, man. You made it.”
Nate turned at the threshold and, with McGinty standing right beside him, said in his best brogue, “Ernie Banks, you’ll be the death of me yet!” It sounded just like the old battle-ax.
Ernie couldn’t help but laugh. McGinty cuffed Nate, then stormed over to whack him, too. “Now shut your trap,” she hissed.
He watched as McGinty marched Nate down the corridor and out of his life. Alone now in the cavernous dorm, he stared out the window at the gray Chicago sky. A tear snuck down his cheek, but he angrily wiped it away.
The only thing he knew for sure was that he’d never let them see him cry.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Waterloo
AT THE BEGINNING of January, the Lakeside board of directors decided that every boy should know how to swim. Mrs. McGinty stationed herself by the door of the idling bus and checked off each boy’s name as he got aboard. Ernie waited at the back of the line of nine- and ten-year-old boys. Lakesiders his age had been to the YMCA pool many times and were already able swimmers. But not Ernie. McGinty had always found a way to keep him from going. Now, because of the new policy, she was forced to include him.
Impatient, Ernie circled to the back of the bus, where he stomped on a row of ice puddles, which was one of his favorite things to do. Every puddle felt like an invitation, no matter the season, and he never passed one without romping through it.
“Ernie Banks!”
Looking up, he saw McGinty’s disapproving glare, then jumped onto one last puddle, cracking the ice.
“You’ve got five seconds to get aboard this bus,” she said. “Or face the consequences.”
Once on the bus, McGinty made him sit next to her and lectured him the whole way across town about “responsibility” and “fulfilling his potential.” He almost wished he’d stayed in the dorm.
After taking showers in their swimsuits, the boys pattered out to the pool for their first lesson. Ernie marveled at the water’s dreamlike glimmer and the kinetic reflections that danced across the walls and ceiling. For as long as he could remember, he’d wanted to learn how to swim.
Mrs. McGinty perched atop a lifeguard tower like a bloated vulture surveying her prey. She’d rolled her nylon stockings to just under her fleshy knees, and her glasses dangled on a string across her bosom. From her lofty position she monitored the behavior of her boys shivering in a group huddle. That is, everyone except Ernie. He was on his hands and knees at the edge of the pool, stroking the shimmering water.
When their instructor arrived with an enthusiastic greeting, “Hey, tadpoles—ready to get wet?” the boys stood at attention, even Ernie. Mr. Franco Alvarez had been the freestyle champ in the city of Chicago when he was sixteen, but that was sixty years ago. Rail thin, with wrinkled skin and only a few wisps of white hair left on his bony head, Mr. Alvarez shuffled across the tile floor in a red-and-white-striped Speedo. His flip-flops made a sucking sound with each step. He blew the whistle dangling from his neck and announced, “First thing we’re going to do is pick a swim buddy.”
While the other boys grabbed a partner, Ernie drifted back to the edge of the pool. He had only one thing on his mind. The water. Unable to resist a second longer, he jumped into the pool, surprising everyone, even himself. He splashed about, flailing his arms and legs, then began to sink. Mrs. McGinty sprang to her feet. “Mr. Alvarez, do something!”
But Mr. Alvarez stood staring at Ernie as if he were walking on water instead of swallowing it.
“No Lakesider drowns on my watch,” McGinty muttered. “Not even Ernie Banks.” She pinched her nose and belly flopped into the pool, clothes and all. Blubbering to the surface, she gulped for air, then plunged back under.
But suddenly, to everyone’s astonishment, Ernie began to wriggle across the bottom as if he’d lived in water all his life. By the time he reached the surface at the deep end, he was swimming with the grace of a porpoise, his face plastered with a giant grin. With the other boys cheering him on, he dove back under. From the bottom of the pool, he could see McGinty’s blurry image paddling toward him. A thousand bubbles escaped her mouth as she screamed a garbled underwater rant. But the water felt so right, he decided to ignore her and swam several laps, sometimes underwater and sometimes on top.
When four YMCA staffers finally hauled him out of the pool, Ernie had an irrepressible grin because now he knew what it felt like to swim. It was the absolute best moment of his life.
McGinty greeted him with a stinging swat to his wet behind. “Ernie Banks, I’m gonna make you wish you never woke up this morning!”
When they got back to Lakeside, Mrs. McGinty kept her promise, and then some. For starters, she vowed he’d never see the pool again, not in this lifetime or the next, despite the fact that Mr. Alvarez said he was the best natural swimmer he’d ever seen. Then she made Ernie mop the entire basement, the damp, dirty underbelly of the old tenement, with the smallest sponge she could find. Finally she sat him in the corner of the dining room, facing the wall, while the other boys ate dinner, but McGinty still wasn’t satisfied. After they washed their faces and brushed their teeth, the boys filed past Ernie standing outside the dorm in his underwear with a sign around his neck that read TROUBLE. It was long after lights-out before she let him go to bed.
After that night, something inside Ernie changed. He just stopped caring. After losing his best and only friend, and knowing he’d never be allowed to swim again, he became more reckless than ever and challenged McGinty’s authority at every opportunity. It became a battle of wills. Mrs. McGinty told anyone who would listen that Ernie Banks was well on his w
ay to becoming a first-rate juvenile delinquent.
And she was probably right.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The Unfriendly Confines
THE FINAL TROUBLE began on a summer afternoon perfect for baseball. It was the Monday of July 4th weekend and everybody from the sixth floor was going to Wrigley. Ernie had never actually been to a game, even though the field was just down the street. Mrs. McGinty knew how much he loved the Cubs, and when Lakesiders went on their annual trip to the park, she always found a reason why he should be left behind.
But that didn’t stop him. He’d just sneak out onto the fire escape and climb the drainpipe to the roof, then jump to the adjacent building and sit with his legs dangling over the parapet while watching the game and listening on his portable radio. The play-by-play helped a lot, because he could see only a corner of the infield grass. The thing he wanted most in the world was to go to a game at Wrigley, but the roof was as close as he ever got. Until today.
On the previous Saturday, when the other boys went to the Y for their swimming lesson, he’d sprung open the corner fire hydrant, which had caused a minor flood in the street. The crime had put him in detention for seven days, and cleaning the kitchen floor that morning was his final task. He scrubbed and waxed the linoleum, buffing the floor until it shined like a pair of McGinty’s patent leather shoes. He wasn’t going to give her any reason to keep him from getting to the game. Not today.
He returned the mop to the supply closet, then bounded up the steps to the sixth floor. As soon as he entered the dorm, he saw five boys at an open window, waging a spitting contest to see who could hit a garbage can in the alley. A freckle-faced redhead invited him to join. “Ernie, you in?”
“Maybe later, “ he said.
Everybody else was changing into their best T-shirts and jeans for the trip to Wrigley when a pigeon flew into the dorm. Panicked, the bird fluttered back and forth as the kids tried to catch it. Shouting, they threw their baseball gloves, hoping to knock it out of the air. One kid was even swinging his bat. When the terrified bird hit a closed window and fell to the ground, the boys swarmed.
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