Me and Momma had another one of them suppers by ourselves, because we knowed Daddy wasn’t about to come in before eleven. After supper I went over to the radio with Momma to listen to Walter Winchell give the War news. Momma turned the dial to KELD and soon Walter Winchell’s rattley voice filled the room. I don’t know how anyone can talk so fast. I can barely understand him.
“Good evening Mr. and Mrs. America, North and South America and all the ships at sea … let’s go to press! Jap troops surrender by the thousands, American Marines capture Okinawa, and casualties are high. Over twenty thousand Japs killed. The attack on the major islands of Japan is only weeks away.”
“Gollee, Momma, did you hear that! Them sorry, stinkin’ Japs are ’bout finished!” I yelled.
“Shusss, Richard, he’s not finished.”
Well, after that Walter Winchell went on and on mostly about the dang Japs and their suicide planes. Me and Ears had a talk about the suicide planes last week, and I don’t think Ears understands the whole thing.
“Heck, Richard, what I don’t get is how they gets outta the plane ’fore it hits a ship.”
“Shoot, Ears, they don’t get out. They crashes it right into the ship with them in it.”
“You mean kill themselves? They don’t either! You’re just makin’ that up. Nobody, but nobody, is gonna fly an airplane into a ship on purpose.”
“Yes, they do, Ears. I promise, cross my heart.” But Ears didn’t believe me. He thought they were just acting like they crashed the planes into the ship, but right before it hit they’d bail out and float down while the plane flew on and crashed into the ship.
Soon Walter Winchell was over, and I settled down to listen to The Green Hornet and then The Shadow. Momma came in and made a half-hearted attempt to get me in bed, but she knew better. I won’t go to bed until Daddy has staggered into the bedroom and passed out, and tonight would be more of the same. A few minutes after eleven I heard our car pull up by the gate. Sniffer let out a welcome howl, and soon I heard Daddy’s unsteady steps on the porch. He made it to the front door and started fumbling with the lock and doorknob. I couldn’t stand it no longer, and I ran to the door and opened it. He stood in the doorway just waiting for Momma to light into him like she did every night when he came home drunk. Momma got up from the couch, where she’d been reading a fashion magazine, and started slowly walking toward Daddy. I would always just wait to hear Momma’s opening line, and most of the time it was, “Jack Mason, you’re drunk again! Don’t you care anything about your family?”
Daddy was sure to answer. “Sue, I’m not drunk. I’ve only had two beers.”
Well, if anything was funny about this whole stupid mess it was that statement. Daddy, who was so drunk he had to hold onto the door facing to keep from falling down, had certainly lost count of the beer he’d drunk.
However, that night Momma was different. She walked over to Daddy, looked him over, reached up and touched his collar, and, I’ll swear, she smelled him. Heck, what was that all about? I could smell beer from across the room. What was she doing? Momma took about two steps back and through gritted teeth, where I had trouble hearing she said, “You’ve been with her, haven’t you?”
“What? What did you say, Momma?”
“Sit down, Richard; your dad and I are just talkin’.”
“I know Momma, but what did you say?” Well, Momma wasn’t about to repeat that again in front of me, and strangely enough Daddy stopped talking and just went to bed. He passed out and was dead to the world in five minutes. Heck, I was in shock. Daddy, who is easygoing and never yells or fusses around the house, is a different person after he starts drinking. Usually, he and Momma will go on for almost an hour, yelling and threatening with me right between them. I tried to talk to Momma about what was certainly a-whole-bunch-different evening, but she just sent me to bed.
I lay there in bed that night knowing something was happening in our family that wasn’t right, but I didn’t know exactly what. Maybe it was Miss Simpson. In a few minutes I dozed off wondering if Ears was right. Maybe them Japs do jump out right before the plane hits. It was five o’clock and time to deliver them danged papers before I knew it.
CHAPTER TWO
Doctor Carl and Miss Tina
Clang! Clang! Clang!
“Oh, oh, dang that stupid alarm clock!” I jumped outta bed, pulled on my shorts, hollered for Sniffer, and in less than ten minutes I walked into Doc Rollinson’s smoke-filled newsstand. Old Doc, with his cigarette holder clamped between his teeth, was zipping around in his wheelchair like some big wind-up toy. He gave me one of them hard looks and mumbled, “Late again.” Doc’s legs were crushed in an oil-field accident years ago, and he hasta use a wheelchair to get around. We’re really good friends, but that don’t keep Doc from giving me heck for being late. Course, I was late again, but just under ten minutes which didn’t require an excuse. I stuffed them papers in my bag, ran the route, and was finished in less than an hour.
Daddy was up and working in the barn when I got back home, but a little after six that afternoon he headed for Peg’s Pool Hall, his favorite drinking place, and when he staggered in sometime after eleven, the same scene happened all over again. Momma didn’t even yell about him being drunk or nothing, which was real unusual, but she did look him over real good, and then she reached up and grabbed his collar, rubbed her finger on something, and then gave it such a yank Daddy nearly toppled over. I heard her mumble something under her breath that I couldn’t make out, and then Daddy said something that was just as hard to hear, and then he went to bed. Momma was so mad she wouldn’t even talk to me, and when I kept on asking what was wrong, she just shook her head and looked like she was gonna cry.
Oh, my gosh, now I had to add Daddy and Momma to my worrying, and I figured that with having to worry about the War and now my folks, if anything else came up I’d never get to sleep. But heck, that weren’t nothing to what I was gonna be worrying about in a few weeks. It took me a long time to fall asleep that night, but, finally, I drifted off to sleep only to be woke up by that danged alarm clock again.
Daddy coming in late had kept me up a lot longer than usual, and it was especially hard to get down to the newsstand. I looked at the clock as I ran in to get my papers.
Dang, five twenty-five, I won’t get a fifty-cent deduction, but I’d better come up with a good excuse. Doc was spinnin’ his wheelchair around like a top, holding out my paper bag as I dashed through the door.
“Richard, can’t you ever be on time? Three more minutes and you’d have a fifty- cent deduction. You better have a good excuse.”
“Oh, Doc, I do, I do. You’ll never believe what happened on the way down here this morning.”
I proceeded to tell Doc a long-winded lie about someone having car trouble, and having to go call a wrecker, and then waiting with the person because it was a woman all by herself. Finally, Doc had enough and just threw the paper bag at me.
“I don’t know whether to believe a word you’re telling me, Richard, but I can tell you one thing: If you don’t get those damn papers in your bag and get the hell out of here, you’re gonna get that fifty-cent deduction!”
Heck, I know that was a little white lie, which a call a lie that don’t hurt no one, but if I had told Doc I’d just overslept he’d have hollered at me like nothing you’ve ever heard. I grumbled as I stuffed the big old, heavy Sunday papers in my bag, which are always a real pain for me because they’re so heavy I can barely drag the bag along the first part of the route. Heck, it took me nearly two hours to throw them sorry papers. After I did my farm chores and had breakfast, I left for church. Sniffer followed me as usual and in a few minutes we were at First Baptist Church. Sniffer plopped down on the steps, and I walked in and went to the balcony where our Sunday School class meets. Sunday School starts at nine forty-five, and when I left the house Daddy was just getting outta bed. He’d make it for the main church service, but it would be after lunch before he was totally back to
normal after a night of drinking.
After Sunday School, we went into the sanctuary for the main church service and plopped down on the back row, as always, not really paying attention to what was going on. Then it was time to recognize the visitors, and the preacher stood up and did the little “We’re so glad you’re here” thing, but then he stopped and went into a long-winded little sermon about how glad we were to have these two special visitors, and me and John Clayton thought it might be the Governor, but no, it was the new doctor and his nurse assistant. Well, the preacher asked them to stand up and they did, and then when they turned around everybody started clapping while they stood there and smiled, and the new doctor made a salute, and then he put his palms out like Jesus or something. I thought he looked kinda goofy, but everybody else was really impressed.
The doctor waved to the congregation again and again and when the clapping stopped he said, real loud in a high-sounding Yankee voice: “I’m so glad to be here in Norphlet.” Well, me and John Clayton just cackled out loud when he said “Norph leet” instead of “Norph let.” He turned his head and looked right at us with one of them bad looks, and we put our hands over our mouths. Then he went on talking about how he just wanted to be everybody’s friend, and you could call him Doctor Carl.
“Now, I mean it folks, just call me Doctor Carl, and I’m here to do what I can to help this community have proper medical care. Remember, it’s Doctor Carl, y’all.”
Well, everybody but me and John Clayton laughed when he said, “Y’all”. Heck, we thought it sounded so Yankee stupid. You know, like he was just trying to be just one of us.
Doctor Carl was a real tall man with a skinny neck and a rather oversized head covered with thick black hair. He had very small shoulders that kinda slumped down and his rear end was as big as the side of a barn. He was funny looking in a way, but I’ll admit he did look real dignified and doctor looking wearing that black suit and black felt hat. Heck, that suit was all buttoned up and his white shirt cuffs kinda stuck out and I could see some gold cuff-links. I’ll tell you one thing for sure, there ain’t never been nobody in First Baptist Church that dressed up, but that weren’t nothing compared to his nurse assistant, who had moved down here from Vermont to work with him. She wasn’t very tall at all, but boy when she turned around and kinda flipped her hair and flashed everybody a big toothy smile, everyone shor did notice her―especially the men. I could see Daddy smiling from all the way back where I was sitting. Well, I guess the thing you noticed the most was her bright red hair, but that hair sure wasn’t the kind of red hair we have down here in Arkansas. I told John Clayton later that it stands to reason if Yankees talk different then maybe their hair is also different, but that sure wasn’t all that was unusual about her. She was real pretty, and I do mean pretty, but in a different way. Miss Simpson is pretty, but this woman clothes seemed to be too tight and the top of her blouse was a whole lot lower than any woman or girl in the church. In fact the only woman I ever saw wearing a blouse that low was Miss Emma down at the Randolph Hotel. Course Miss Emma is one of the Randolph Hotel girls, whatever that means. About that time John Clayton punched me and said, “They’re bigger than Miss Simpson’s.”
“What? What’s bigger?” I whispered.
“You know, uh, well, you know what I mean,” he whispered back.
I looked closely at her and nodded my head. “Oh, yeah, you’re durn sure right ’bout that,” I whispered
After Doctor Carl and his nurse assistant were introduced, the preacher went on and on about the pounding the church was gonna have after the evening service. Well, poundings at our church are a really big deal, and just anybody doesn’t get one. The idea is to help a family get started in their new house by bringing stuff to stock their icebox, or maybe a home-baked pie, or I’ve seem some people bring a mess of fish all cleaned and ready to fry. Course, since we’re Baptists, we’re gonna have a potluck supper along with the pounding, and we’ll have more food to eat than you’d believe. Well, after a forty-five- minute sermon and a twenty-minute invitation, we were finally let out, and me and John Clayton scooted out the door ahead of nearly everybody and headed for home.
“Come on, Sniffer, let’s go home¬. I’ll see you tonight John Clayton.” Me and Sniffer started walking away from the church just as Momma called out to me.
“Richard, come straight home. Brother Taylor will be eating with us today.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Dang, there goes the chicken breast.
I took my time walking back home with Sniffer trotting along by my side, and we took a few detours as usual, to keep from having to sit and talk with the preacher, and by the time we got home Momma had dinner ready to put on the table.
“Everyone please be seated, and Brother Taylor, sit here at the head of the table,” Momma said.
We sat down and Momma looked over at Brother Taylor and asked him to say the blessing. Course that was no surprise, ’cause Brother Taylor gets paid to pray. Man, he can say more in a prayer that you’d believe. I’d just bowed my head and was settling into a near sleep when Brother Taylor startled me by calling my name.
“Richard, Brother Davis, your Sunday School teacher, said you can pray the sweetest prayers. Why don’t you lead us in prayer today?”
I sat straight up in shock and looked around at Momma who nodded her head and said; “Richard, you didn’t tell me about praying in Sunday School. Go ahead and bless the food.”
“Go ahead, son,” said Daddy.
I slumped farther down in the chair, and I felt like a trapped rat about to be gobbled up by some old cat.
I gotta do it. Here goes.
“Lord, thank you for the food and everything, and especially for lettin’ me find that quarter in front of the Red Star Drug Store, and Lord, help our family get out of the mess we’re in. Amen.”
I heard Momma make a little gasp when I said that, and Daddy gave me one of them hard looks that would kill a cat. Boy, it was really quiet for a few seconds as we all sat there and waited on somebody to say something. Finally, Momma reached down and picked up the platter of fried chicken and passed it to Brother Taylor.
“Brother Taylor have some chicken, and take two pieces, they’re small.” “Thanks, Sue, your chicken’s the best in town.” Brother Taylor said, forking the two pieces of breast, and I thought for a minute he was gonna get the pulley-bone, too, but he hesitated and then passed the plate to Daddy.
Dang, dang, dang, now the breast is gone. Maybe the pulley-bone will still be there when the plate gets to me. But no such luck, as Daddy stabbed the pulley-bone. The legs disappeared next, and by the time the plate got to me I was looking at the neck, back, gizzard, and a couple of boney wings.
“Ha!” I spied the liver hidden under the back. I’d lucked out. The liver is my all- time favorite piece of chicken, but I rarely get to eat the liver ’cause Daddy usually forks it first. He’d missed it since it was under the back. I waved it around for Daddy to see as Momma gave me a glance and nod which meant, “Put your chicken down and start eating.” You know, I’m not that crazy about Brother Taylor coming over for Sunday dinner, because we have to talk and walk around like we’re on stage before God or something, but there are plusses in Brother Taylor’s visits. We can always count on Momma to make a peach cobbler. Her chicken may be the talk of the town, but her peach cobbler is outta this world. Momma sat a big bowl of steaming hot cobbler in front of me, and then, as I looked up in shock, she dipped up a big scoop of ice cream to top it off. I couldn’t believe it ’cause having ice cream around our house sure ain’t something we do every day. Shoot, as far as I was concerned, Brother Taylor could eat with us every Sunday.
After we finished and sat around in the living room talking with Brother Taylor, I went outside, sat on the porch swing, and started reading a funny book. I could hear Brother Taylor and my folks talking about how fortunate the town was to have a doctor,
but there was just something about the doctor and his nurse that didn�
�t seem right. Heck, maybe it was her funny red hair. I settled into the swing and rested my head on a pillow Momma had put there, and before I knew it I’d dozed off. I woke up with Daddy shaking the swing and telling me to get dressed for church.
The evening service started like all of our services, but Brother Taylor was having trouble ending it. This was one of those salvation Sundays where the Sunday School lesson and all the preaching was about being saved, and after all that effort Brother Taylor wasn’t gonna let us outta church until somebody walked the aisle. Five, then six verses of “Just as I Am” and still nobody moved. John Clayton nudged me, and I looked over to see his white knuckles gripping the pew and I whispered, “Calm down. Remember, we’re just twelve and you hafta be fourteen before you’re accountable. Jesus, ain’t gonna send us to hell a day before we’re fourteen.” I don’t know where I got that¬¬ ―that you had to be fourteen, before God would send you to hell―but me and John Clayton believed it was the Gospel truth, and we weren’t about to join the church a day before we turned fourteen. John Clayton settled down a little bit, but Brother Taylor kept the invitation going for another verse.
“We’ll sing one more verse, and if nobody comes, I’ll close the invitation.”
“Yes!” I muttered.
Lyin' Like a Dog, The Yankee Doctor, The Danged Swamp! 3-Volume set Page 20