1960
John Kennedy is inaugurated as the 35th president of the United States.
Kate and Leroy are in Sarasota Florida running a rigged Marlin fishing tournament. Leroy, voting Republican, objects.
“But he’s Catholic.”
Kate, “Like you care.”
“He’s too young.”
“Don’t be an idiot.”
1961
Tiny wailing from the delivery room as the doctor walks out toward the half-dozen men lolling in various vegetative states in the men’s waiting lounge. Ashtrays are overflowing and there’s a cloud of smog that actually blurs the walls. Lutheran General Hospital doesn’t allow men in the delivery room, does frown on them smoking in the lounge but allows it anyway figuring these guys are stressed enough. The mothers are offered painkillers to sort of balance things.
The doctor, blue scrubs, white mask, walks over to Leroy Logan and says, “Congratulations, sir; it’s a boy!”
Leroy accepts a handshake as he awkwardly stubs out his smoke. It’s his fourth son.
1962
Winslow Petrie in a gray suit, white shirt, black tie, tilts his fedora back as he looks to the ceiling. “Spare me the lies,” he says. He looks back down at the cowering felon cuffed to the green metal table in the interrogation room of this seedy Southside Chicago cop shop.
“Tell me what I want to hear.”
The guy’s not stupid; he knows an opening when he hears one. His name is Patterson, goes by ‘Wild Willie’ on the streets. He says, “Logan. Leroy Logan. We did a couple of small scams out near Midway.” He goes on—a lot—blathering details that almost make sense.
Winslow interrupts. “He have a dame with him?”
“Yeah,” says Willie. “A looker. She—”
“Brunette,” says Winslow, assured, like he knew it. “Tall, big-boned woman; likes to bark orders.”
“Sure,” says Willie. “That’s her. “That’s Fast Kate.”
“Shit,” says Winslow. “Kate’s a Red-head.”
1963
John F. Kennedy is assassinated in Dallas, Texas, and Camelot dies with him. Lyndon Johnson, as bent as that tower in Pisa, takes office.
Katherine—certainly not known as ‘Fast Kate’ in these parts—is next up on the stage. She’s wearing a maroon robe and a mortarboard hat and she strides across the platform when she hears, “Carver, Katherine.”
A man shakes her hand, gives her a rolled sheepskin and she walks down stairs with a brand new bachelor’s degree in Art Appreciation and a smile that lights her way.
Leroy—he is proud of her, though he sincerely doesn’t get it—says, “So now you know what art to appreciate?”
Kate, knowing he doesn’t understand and loving him anyway, says, “Yes, Logan; I do know what to appreciate,” meaning, perhaps, him as well.
1964
The bone scam begins in, of all places, a wine-tasting vineyard in Napa when Leroy says, “I been thinking…”
Kate, gently rotating a glass of Cabernet, smiles in genial amusement. It’s always interesting when he starts this way.
“Yes?” Her tone could make a priest start shedding vestments but Leroy barely raises an eyebrow. Kate sits up, sips down. This could possibly be something.
“Dinosaurs,” he says solemnly, nodding at his own judgement. “How about we sell a dinosaur?”
Kate suggests, “Because we don’t have one?” But realizes that isn’t necessarily an objection. They didn’t have a battleship either, that time they sold it.
Still…a dinosaur?
The Rag, The Wire And The Big Store Page 6