Heywood Fetcher

by W.H. Harrod

  ~Now What?

  Turns out Heywood didn’t end up back in the hills where it had all started. He did go back several times, but he didn’t stay. He possessed many fond memories of his boyhood home, but that life was not what he wanted any longer. It was time to put away the toys and the daydreams of his youth and take his place among the adults. Back there he was surely destined to become like Sisyphus, doomed forever to push the boulder up the hill only for it to roll back down again.

  One particular time that he did go back for a short visit made a lasting impression on him. He stopped by a local tavern which he’d often frequented, along with many of his old pals. Sure enough, right as he walked in the door it was as if he’d stepped back in time. There at the end of the bar were several old boyhood friends, drinking beer and arguing about anything and everything, especially, high school sports. They were actually debating the disastrous results of one particularly bad officiating call that happened a decade earlier. Heywood stood listening to them arguing about stuff that most people would have forgotten about years before.

  Finally, Heywood walked to where the arguing group sat and ordered a soda. That’s when they finally looked his way, as if to ask, who would come into a tavern and order a soda pop? Eventually, one of the guys, who recognized him, sat his beer down and said hello to Heywood as if he’d seen him only the day before. Heywood said, hello, back. Nothing else was said for a time until his old pal turned to him and asked, “You been gone?”

  It took a moment for Heywood to compose himself before he could answer. Nothing had changed for them. Only their skin had aged in the intervening ten years. Their minds were still back in the day.

  “Yes, I have,” Heywood answered. “Actually, I went to Vietnam, came back to live in Kansas and graduate from college, got married, had a kid, and became an officer in a national corporation.”

  “That right?” replied his old, unimpressed, former boozing companion. “You want a beer?”

  “No, thanks,” Heywood answered recalling why he’d decided to give up the booze years earlier. “I was just coming through town and wanted to stop by and say hello.”

  “Well, good to see you. Don’t stay away so long the next time, okay?” was the last thing said to Heywood before the guy turned back to his discussion regarding the terrible officiating that, in his eyes, caused the loss of a high school football game years earlier.

  As Heywood viewed that earlier part of his life in the rearview mirror, he reflected on the events that had transpired upon his return to civilian life, following his Vietnam tour.

  His entire life and, especially, his outlook had changed dramatically. He had married a Kansas girl; he had a son, an amazing little boy; he graduated from college with a business degree; he was now a corporate vice-president of finance. Not bad for a kid who had grown up with few expectations beyond working at a job at some factory with an assembly line that ran twenty four hours a day.

  Why that kind of life no longer worked for him surprised Heywood somewhat. What’s wrong with coming back to the place where you were born, taking a job at a local factory, and stopping by the local tavern occasionally for a cold one with boyhood friends?

  As Heywood thought about it some more, he came to the conclusion that he was probably the most unlikely person to make such a move. Those guys back at the tavern were basically decent hardworking guys with families who often stopped by the tavern for a few cold ones before returning to their families and doing all those things that families usually do. Plus they were not overly concerned with the all the problems that were currently plaguing the world. What good did it do to worry about what was going on in Cambodia, behind the Iron Curtain, or even in the White House? Those guys back at the bar were Voltaire adherents and didn’t even know it. They were staying at home and “tending their own gardens.” It was Heywood who was still out there in the world searching for his rightful place.

  This realization surprised Heywood. Those old friends back there where he was born were the ones who were more accepting of the hand life had dealt them. They were making do as best they could, and they had become contributing members of their communities. So those old friends did live in something of a time warp regarding their inclination to dwell on the past, what was so attractive about the present or the future?

  Presently, military posturing was being taken to a new level with all the ICBM nuclear missiles divided fairly evenly between the USA and the USSR. All it would take was for some nut with a security clearance to get one of those missiles with a warhead flying and the whole world would soon afterwards be nothing more than a used charcoal briquette.

  Heywood decided he needed to get out of the judging business. Those guys were doing the best they could. They were contented, contributing members of their society. Hopefully Heywood could someday say as much about himself.

  Maybe his present attitude was the product of all those political discussions Heywood had gotten involved in over the last few years. That seemed to be a favorite pastime of college students. Heywood had ultimately gotten sucked into that giant mall consuming millions of voices presently screaming political prejudices towards any listener, willing or unwilling.

  He’d also gotten close to smacking the crap out of a few of his younger college classmates when they started in on the ill-fated Vietnam adventure. It was only later that he began to understand that the whole thing was in fact a military incursion primarily designed to benefit the vast U.S. military-industrial complex.

  The country possessed a deep phobia relating to anything resembling communism, which was probably well founded at the time. Half of Europe was behind barbed wire fences, as well as China, North Korea, and Cuba. That did not bode well for a highly industrialized nation that required access to all sorts of scarce natural resources. If his country wanted to keep on keeping on, relating to the present standard of living now commonplace in the country, it had to get off its ass and go out there and blow some countries up or at least swindle them out of their oil and various other mineral resources.

  What it all came down to was that he had changed. It wasn’t intentional, but it happened. No longer was he that fun loving, loathe to working, young man with few interests beyond fast cars, cute girls, and beer. He’d left the reservation and gotten involved in matters concerning the world. For better or worse, he could never go back.

  The trajectory of his journey to the halls of higher learning and corporate offices was not at all easy or quick. He worked nights as a janitor in a department store for the first three years he attended college. Not the kind of job he necessarily wanted to do, but he needed his days free to attend classes and take care of his son, and if he hustled, he could usually expect to have some time to do part of his course work down by the trash dumpsters where he dumped the detritus of a large retail business. After a while it got to where he knew the job so well he could actually study while pushing a broom. Later, he became a night guard at a large bank high rise building that was frequented during the evenings by many local notables desiring to hob-knob with their peers in an exclusive restaurant at the top of the building. On that job it was okay for Heywood to sit and study. Heywood thought of it as capitalism at its finest, being that all parties profited from the transactions: the local leaders of industry seeking to socialize with their peers and Heywood getting paid while seeking access to the same educational tools that would someday allow him to do likewise.

  He worked hard to become something other than what most of his family and peers expected him to be - an older version of the wild kid who was always looking for a good time; the kid who would punch a much bigger bully in the nose knowing he was going to be beaten up; the proverbial fish out of water. He was not naturally inclined towards the Socratic Method where one employed critical thinking, reason, and logic. Early on, whenever his ideas were challenged, his usual response went something like, “Oh yeah? Well up yours!”

  That needed to change. Heywood realized he didn’t need to explai
n his every idea, prejudice, doubt, phobia, and dream to every human being he encountered. Nor, and this was of most importance, did he need to defend them.

  What he needed to do was grow up. It was time to put away the toys and ideas of his wild youth and go play with the adults. Adults spent their time dealing with reality, the kind of reality that required them to step up to the plate and participate in the problems and opportunities all societies are confronted with. Things like: poverty, sickness, war, civil rights, jobs, education, and raising children.

  His own child’s welfare became of particular importance to Heywood. The very nice young lady he married delivered them a beautiful son. He was so proud of the little guy, never imagining that he would or could be part of something so amazing. With that thought in mind, perhaps the best way to bring this tale of youthful exuberance to a conclusion would be by recalling a few of those early parenting experiences.