BOOK
I, the good.
Basic human lessons revealed through
original short stories, fables, parables and cartoon characters. For teachers,
parents, kids and all others.
You can order the entire book on
diskette by going to end of this page attoOrder.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
RETURN TO HOME welcome.html
GO TO BookIcontents.html Book I, the good.
GO TO BookIIcontents.html Book II, the bad.
GO TO BookIIIcontents.html Book III, the ugly.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
BOOK I, the good. by Whittaker, Glenn Harding jr.
Copyright 01-21-1993 TXU 552 271
CHICG . . . . . . . . ccg
BLOP BOP BOPPY . . . . bbb
BLANK PAGE . . . . . BP
THE RACE . . . . . . race
PINOCCHIO'S WIFE. . . . pinwife
BOYS MAP . . . . . .boys
DRAGON'S INN . . . . .dragon
CORNER CHARACTERS . . .corner
ONE EVENING WITH SNOW . . . . . .snow
TIME ENOUGH . . . . . .time
SUMMER 1918 . . . . . .summer
SUNSET GRILL . . . . grill
SANTA'S SEWER . . . . sewer
PEACE PIPE . . . . . peace
H. FORD . . . . . . . . .hford
AUTHOR'S COMMENTS . . author
Long ago there roamed a two-toned Chicg on the face of the earth.
One day the God called forth for the Chicg, "CHIC" coughed loudly and then finished with, "GGGG."
The cough startled a passing strawberry rain cloud. In fright, it blasted a lightening bolt toward the coming Chicg, cutting it in half. So away rolled 'chick' and 'egg'.
So if someone asks you, "What came first, the chicken or the egg?" Stand up and holler, "It was that there Chicg, who got axed by God's lightening."
### the end. 18 April 1980. (for Christa's birthday)
RETURN TO INDEX index
Blop Bop Boppy was a whitish green grape that lived in a warm valley with his very large family of grapes. His family had chosen this little valley for their home because of its warm nights.
The cool night air chose the soft, high surrounding hilltops for its bed. So it never settled to rest down in the valley. After the grape family had learned of this from the valley flowers, they unpacked their bags and settled into their new home.
Grapes are quiet creatures.
They sit in their vines and enjoy. They love to see the morning sun's changing light and to feel its afternoon warmth. They enjoy the stirring of the wind and the touching sound of the leaves.
They are pleased by any movement they see: the trod of worker ants; the gnawing of a hungry beetle; the flit of butterflies; the glide of a hawk.
Since they are so busy enjoying the world around them, they are not very active. And they seldom talk. So they have little need of names, but this is a story of a grape with a name.
Blop Bop Boppy got his name because of something he did. Yes something he did! Of course it did happen by accident.
Blop Bop Boppy watched the path of a circling hawk for so long that he twisted himself right off the vine and fell to the ground.
When he landed he made a sound. Blop! He got up dizzily and fell over. Bop! He then rolled over some twigs. Boppy!
None of the other grapes saw him fall, but they all heard the sounds he made. Blop Bop Boppy. They were in awe. A grape had made a sound. They cheered him, they clapped, they echoed his sound, "Blop Bop Boppy, Blop Bop Boppy, Blop Bop Boppy."
He was hurt from his fall and bruised, but with so much attention he did not feel the pain. He was a celebrity; he had a name.
When he was back on the vine they echoed his name and called him to repeat his sound, "You are special, you are gifted, Blop Bop Boppy, do it again."
So he jumped to the ground. Blop! Again he got dizzy and fell over. Bop! He tripped over some twigs. Boppy!
The grapes cheered him over and over. He climbed to the vine and jumped many times that day before night's rest came.
The next day Blop Bop Boppy was sore all over and his bruises were purple. When the grapes echoed his name he had already decided that he was not going to jump anymore. So he quieted the crowd and told them, "I am not so special. Anyone of you can make a sound. All you have to do is jump. It is so simple for any of you."
But the grapes were convinced that only he could make a sound. So they got angry and yelled at him, "Jump, jump, jump!" But Blop Bop Boppy said no and did not move.
Two of the grapes came at Blop Bop Boppy to push him to the ground. All three wrestled and struggled on the vine until one of the other grapes fell.
That grape hit the ground. Blop! Got up and stumbled. Blip! Then rolled over, Blippy!
The grape crowd cheered, "Blop Bop Boppy, yea Blop Bop Boppy!"
But Blop Bop Boppy was still on the vine and called out to the crowd, "I am still on the vine. It was another grape that fell and made his sounds. You see, I told you anyone can do it."
Some of the grape crowd booed.
And then the second grape came at Blop Bop Boppy to throw him to the ground. But Blop Bop Boppy dodged out of the way and that grape fell to the ground with a Blop, Blip, Boppy.
The grape crowd again echoed, "Yea Blop Bop Boppy!"
So again Blop Bop Boppy called to the crowd from the vine, "I am still up here. Another grape has fallen and made his sounds, not me. You see, any of you can make your own sounds. Just jump to the ground."
The grape crowd quieted and mused over this new idea. Some of the wiser grapes decided that maybe Blop Bop Boppy was right. So three of them jumped, and landed with a Blop, Blip, Bip, Bippy.
Soon other bold grapes began to jump. And each of them made a sound. And before the day was over, the entire grape family had taken a turn at jumping and making their sounds.
At the end of the summer, all the grapes were sore and had purple bruises all over their bodies from their daily jumps.
So when the first human entered their valley and discovered a family of purple grapes, he picked and squashed them and made a drink we call pink champagne.
### the end. September 1978.
RETURN TO INDEX index
Use your own imagination.
"Mercury, you have won every race since the first. You are the faster with your smooth turnabouts always inside of Mars. This race though, may see a different winner," the Sun boldly beamed, for he was the judge of these races. "I have placed puzzles along your race route which must be solved. Each puzzle each of you solves will benefit your abilities. Furthermore, Mars will have a ten count lead."
The Sun boomed: "BEGIN".
Purple Ball
And off Mars jetted toward the tail of the Big Dipper, the race's turning point. While an anxious Mercury waited, listlessly listening to the slow countdown of the Sun:
"9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, 0."
Mars was well beyond sound when he noticed a purple fireball. He had been wondering how he might recognize the puzzles. So he sided hesitantly near, stopping his haste a full space distance. Aloud he muttered, "That must be one. For the Sun is of fire and so is that ball. But where is the Sun's color? Is that the solution?" No, he felt, for he still sensed doubt. He thrust forward, but could not close in the distance.
The purple fire remained a full space before him. He curved to circle behind it. First fast as light, then as slow as sound. Still he remained a full space from the purple ball. Finally he stopped and mused, "I don't believe I'll ever near it."
The Sun echoed to him, "You are right, proceed. You are now faster than light."
A very pleased Mars scorched his way toward the Dipper, surged by new power. Mars beamed with speed he knew must equal Mercury's. He had found and solved the Sun's first puzzle. He surely would discover the mystery of the next purple fire puzzle. His confidence jetted him closer to the Dipper's tail, but past the second mystery, a blue fireball.
Blue Ball
When the Sun had boomed zero, off streamed a nervous Mercury, his thoughts plagued by the possibility of defeat. From his beginning he, Mercury, had been the Race Champion. Mars had never been a true rival. Yet this contest threatened and worried him. Would Mars solve the mysteries and be so rewarded by the Sun that he, the Race Champion, would become the loser? So blinded by frets and mews, Mercury slightly noticed passing the first puzzle.
Sensing Mars's trail, Mercury propelled beyond his fears and channeled his thoughts on the race. He noted the coming of a bluish dim; his systems correlated the memory of earlier passing a purplish ball. Concluding these as possible clues, he dipped halt aside the Sun's second mysterious puzzle.
He stayed near and perplexingly observed, "The Sun's hue is gold and fiery, while this ball's hue is blue and cool." So Mercury clasp the puzzle and hastily withdrew, for the blue ball shrank.
"Was Mars here," he wondered, "and if so, why is the shrinking blue clue still here?" Concluding Mars had bypassed it, he reclasp the fireball, which drained, leaving a black void in its space. Bemused, Mercury reached forward, entering the void, which projected him.
He remained still, his vision confused by a dissimilar star pattern, his memory swirled by the black void's thrust. He spun to, stopped pin pointedly and smiled, "I've arrived beyond the Dipper's tail."
"Right," tarted the Sun, "that's your reward." With that, Mercury scorched space, laughing on his return way.
Racing with magnificent glitter, he slupped beside the approaching, surprised Mars. Jeering of his lead, Mercury double dip twisted sunwards. So confident of victory, he pressed every energy thought in a slanted slide streak, leaving behind a perplexed, now trailing Mars.
Green Ball
Mars slow banked around the Dipper's tail. So overwhelmed by Mercury's talents, his pace dwindled to near collapse. He had had the lead, yet Mercury's trail now lay ahead.
He reasoned aloud, "Mercury must have figured a clue, but what clue, where? I solved the only purple fireball puzzle and passed only a curious blue fireball. Yet Mercury now has the lead." He blanked with despondent reasoning. His glide-stall ebbed only by seeing Mercury's dangerous, impressive slide recoup.
Elated, so pleased and so full of his ability, Mercury's expert skill egotistically blinds him past a very small green fireball puzzle.
A nearly composed Mars sculled forward-bound to finish, even if last. He too, too in self-thought, closed carefully near to passing the Sun's third mystery. When there, on his left, his vision was sharpened by a green glimmer. So amazed at his discovery, he misjudged. Stopping not aside, but atop the fireball.
His thought stammered as he fumbled to clear a proper viewing distance. This movement was prevented by such a pressing force Mars felt he might implode, as if all worlds were upon him and he rushing forth against them faster than all lights' motion. Vision was but light flickered, streamed and blindsum. Thought was but a feeling of intense pressure beyond hope, want or desire.
Mars gasp from thrust's release. And then he swam forward in sensations, for he had stopped. The race's end was within sensing space with Mercury there ahead in stop amoung hundreds of orange miniature fireflies. The gap ahead closed with the mystery of the green puzzle accidentally solved and silently rewarded. "Here is the race again," Mars resounded.
Orange Ball
Mercury sat fixed, surrounded by hundreds of miniature fireballs. He had touched the orange ball and it had exploded. Then each piece streakingly encircled him. When his past solution notions failed to resolve the mystery he sped curved, twisted twice coming back to reverse stream. But his motions were still held within the fireballs.
He angered and lashed out and was burned by stings of their heat. Quickly he wet his wound. It immediately healed and he smiled knowingly.
"Right," echoed the distant Sun.
So Mercury spew wet forth. The fireflies retreated and enjoined into their ball. Mercury reversed-rocked and stopped with his very thought of stopping.
"Instantaneous actions up thought," blasted the Sun.
Mercury beamed proudly, thought dashed, and was gone immediately from the space, "On, on to win."
Yellow Gold Balls
Mars sensed resounding from Mercury's departing herald. His green-clued thrust had laid him aside the encompassed Mercury. He witnessed Mercury's solution and imitated him. He too wet the fireflies, reversed-rocked at their retreat, but received no reward from the Sun. Perplexed and disappointed, he stilled hesitant. Then realizing the Sun's fairness he jetted on with a slide curve in time to glimpse Mercury's trail.
"Ha, Mars slides on my trail. The end is near. Soon victory! Another race I will champion," raved Mercury. His too soon glory quieted, as his sleek curve revealed two yellow-gold fireballs ahead.
He circled them, spew wet forth and touched each. Yet they remained unchanged. He reversed and slope slid their edges, then finally lashed out at both. Unsuccessful, he stopped paused in thought.
At his distance the golden light seemed a diffuse, hazed edge to Mars. "Mercury is there, I've found him at the clue. His shade must be defracting my vision," quipped of Mercury's recent trail. Refocusing for clarity, he could then see two yellowish balls outline Mercury's sleek, sun moving form.
He guided aside Mercury. Unbelievingly Mars eyed a puzzled opponent, and both of the clues. He thought, and he knew there should be just one clue. Mars tried, but he could not join the two together. Neither would move. Mars' voice ringed with wisdom, "Mercury, we must join these to solve this clue."
So each circled behind a yellow sphere. When they stood facing each other, they shoved the clues forward until the edges rippled, crossed, and the circles fused into one ball.
And it was the Sun, which boomed, "Now the race is over!"
### the end. Spring 1980.
RETURN TO INDEX index
What did happen to Pinocchio afterwards? After they got home. After the winter took Jimney Cricket to a southern island to help a troubled trumpet player. After each and every towns-person had pinched, poked and popped the puppet-boy turned to flesh and blood. After a few years the story of Pinocchio, the whale, the island escape, and the Blue Fairy had been forgotten. No one spoke of it in their shop, in the street, or about the supper table.
Who cared? It was enough to happen in one small shop owner's life. An unbelievable story, an exciting adventure with a happy ending that taught us many lessons and that was enough, wasn't it. Of the rest of their lives, no one knew. Not even me, until one bright hot summer noon when a pixy buzzed my sleepy ear.
I
Pinocchio went on to follow in his creator's craft. From boyhood through his growing teen years Geppeppo taught him the fine art of cabinet making. The right wood seasoned with precision fittings, stains and polishes. Lavish engravings made those long arduous hours pass easily, pleasing both teacher and student. Pinocchio learned the complete business with equal enthusiasm and skill. He found it wasn't enough to make a quality cabinet, it also had to be sold. And the customer's ego had to be soothed. Pinocchio became a cabinetmaker learning from a master craftsman, his father Geppeppo.
One fine fall night the Blue Fairy returned to guide Geppeppo's spirit from his shop. In the morning Pinocchio put his body in the plain box Geppeppo had marked as his coffin. In the afternoon Pinocchio filled the hole under the Cyprus tree in the back of the garden. During the next weeks he told those who asked, "Geppeppo went to help his sick aunt in Spain."
As the years passed Pinocchio toiled day and night. Leaving his shop only for the requirements of food and new materials from the vendors of the market. During the shopping he would see females in pretty dresses browsing. An unknown, puzzling yearn would stir within him. Sometimes the feeling would hold him in place with stare. Other times he found himself drawn to follow. But he always found his way home alone, too shy and confused of what the yearn was to actually speak to the females.
The weekly market trips became months, the months became seasons and Pinocchio's confusion became loneliness and unbearable frustration. Finally, he carved a female companion puppet. He painted long blonde hair to match a milking maiden's costume. After months of careful whittling and touch detailing paint, his first female friend stood with silent smile aside the southern window.
Pinocchio would speak to her as he had heard the other males talk to the girls at the market place. She did all that she could, stood in silent smile. Over the summer he became bolder, warming close for conversation. They had many likes and dislikes. They were very in-tune. They knew each other almost completely for Pinocchio's loneliness had imagined her alive.
One Sunday afternoon he was tending the flowers about the gravestone telling Geppeppo of his girl friend. Stammering for a name, he glanced around spying the brilliant hue shimmering from a large vine and uttered her name, "Pumkin. Pumkin. Pumkin. Yes that's her name. And I like her very much, very much," blushing and turning a slow circle away from the stone, "and she likes me too. She likes me very much," smiling and grinning, "very much."
"And, and...," he hesitated, looking back at the stone, "and I love Pumkin. And, and surely she loves me. She does, well she might. She could." She hadn't said. He thought so, was fairly sure, yet maybe he ought to find out for sure, to ask her. So resolute he jumped up, dropping the flowers on the grave, and trot giddily to the shop.
A customer stood impatiently at the counter by the register as Pinocchio darted around it, unseeing.
He grabbed Pumkin hard. Pulled, twisted her about to face him, and blurted, "You do love me, don't you! Well don't you!"
Pumkin's silent smile continued.
He shook her, "I, I love you. You must, must love me."
The silent smile continued.
The customer, a plump woman who helped bake bread a few shops away, coughed loudly, "Pinocchio, I beg your pardon. Are you speaking to me or that mannequin?"
Pinocchio turned quickly, blushing, stammering, "Oh Miss Poody. I didn't see you there. I was addressing Pumkin," waving his left hand at the puppet against the window.
Miss Poody raised her brow, cocked her head, cleared her throat, and in a cold, accusing tone, "Have you gone mad. Have you lost your senses, confessing love to a wooden doll?"
Pinocchio put his hand to his mouth, turned to stare at Pumkin. Then reached out with his other hand and patted her cheek, "Wooden, wooden? Wooden. Yes she is made of wood. I made her myself," turning to face Miss Poody's query, "to keep me company. I often bounce ideas off her, so to speak." He put his hands to his mouth, then slowly lowered them continuing softly, "I'm so embarrassed Miss Poody. I was practicing, acting out a love scene." He lowered his eyes then raised them. Seeing her face clear, a bolder male tone flowed, "Practicing for when I meet my future bride," he blushed, feigned, and turned slowly away.
She giggled, resting her arm on her bosom, her fingers covering her laugh, "Oh you young men and your love fantasies." Her tone reflective, "I do suppose practicing is alright. Love proposals are a most remembered event. Yes you would want to do it properly." She nodded to him then stared at the shelves of finished work, "Is my book rack ready?"
"Yes Miss Poody. Just yesterday," and went 'round the counter, grateful for the return to business.
She smiled as he handed her the polished walnut planks. She took the heavy shelves, looked at them, "I'll take them home for a few days. If they are satisfactory I'll return Tuesday with the fee."
Marking in the Due Ledger, he nodded, "Why that will be fine Miss Poody. Thank you. See you then."
They nodded good-byes.
Pinocchio stared at the closed door. Shook his head. Then stared at Pumkin's silent smile until the church bell sounded four. Abruptly he walked to her. Smiled at her smile. Then patted her check, softly at first, then harder and harder. Finally he knocked her flat on the floor. His palm red. He stared down at the silent smile. Then carefully picked her up. Cradling her in his arms, he carried her to the garden.
Two white moths were swirling among the flowers.
He walked between them, placing Pumkin beside the gravestone. He stood. Looked at the gravestone, then to the Cyprus tree beside it. He reached to the tree and slapped the trunk until his other hand was stinging red. Staring at both palms, he sat plop-down on the ground beside his creator, blankly factual, "She is made of wood. I made her from a hunk of Cyprus, but she's...," a tear cut into his voice.
The moths came close; each held aside an ear.
"More than just wood. I know she is. There's a specialness about her. I can almost see her movement."
The moths came closer; each before an eye.
"There is love within her. My love is within her. I know, for I love her." He took Pumkin in his arms and began to cry softly. Tears wheal and fell onto the constant stare of Pumkin.
The moths union in swirling flight.
The Blue Fairy popped into the Cyprus tree and waved her wand toward them. Life was held frozen for the instant it took to animate Pumkin and to explain how she had come to motion and how she too, like Pinocchio, could come to life after doing some selfless heroic deed.
II
Animated life with Pinocchio found salty tears her first experience. She put her hands 'round his neck and pulled up. Her lips meet his briefly. She lowered, then hushed comfort, "Be still my sweet. I am beside you."
Startled, he dropped loose his hold upon her, gasping, "What ho this magic? Am I cursed? Am I died? How can this be?" his eyes now dry and wide.
Pumkin loosened her grasp from his neck and rolled to sit erect opposite him on the grave. Holding a silent smile, "Do you not remember your own history? The Blue Fairy setting you to life for saving Geppeppo."
Pinocchio rolled his eyes, "Well yes, that's right. I kinda forgot. Geppeppo made me. The Blue Fairy gave me part life, then full life after I saved him from the whale." Hiding his eyes briefly, grimaced, "Oh now it all begins to come back. The island, those donkeys, those awful ears...," his hands grabbed at the memory.
He blushed excuses, "Well being alive was new. I got taken-in by those thieves. Tricked I was."
With innocent wonderment, "And none of it was your fault?"
"Well no. None of it," resolutely.
Looking at the gravestone paused in thought, she continued, "I have this foggy notion of a real long nose." Looking back to him, "What was that?"
"Oh," skewing his lips, "well maybe some of it was my fault."
Reaching across to stretch an imagined, elongated nose on him, she asked, "Your nose. How could that be?"
An impish smile, "Lie and zoom out it would go; the Blue Fairy set a condition." His fingers went from his nose forward and met hers.
They entwined fingers of one hand, then both hands.
The white moths flit through the space between them.
They stood and joined atop Geppeppo's grave in a hug.
He pulled apart and repeated his confession of love.
Pumkin smiled, "I have this foggy memory of you having said that before."
Leaning back in wonder, he queried embarrassingly, "What other foggy memories do you have?"
She went on to repeat slowly everything he had said and had done to her. She smiled, her eyes emotionless.
He suddenly kissed her, flesh lips to wooden lips. He pulled back, then puzzled a look, a thought sounded, "You still are of wood?"
She looked off, then told of the Blue Fairy's condition on her.
"A heroic deed? A heroic deed! That's not fair. Do you know how seldom comes the opportunity for a heroic deed? Except for Geppeppo in the whale, nothing like that ever happens 'round here. Oh what can we do?" he gestured frantic.
Pumkin shrugged her shoulders, "I just got here," looking at the garden, "seems nice. I'm in no rush. Something will come up."
Pinocchio sighed, "But I'm flesh and you're wood. How can we, we be in love? How can we marry? And how can we...?"
She smiled and twirled and twirled and danced about the garden and laughed and hummed.
Arms to the skies, "Where can we find a heroic deed to do? Blue Fairy where are you?" He turned a full circle in look.
"This is nice. I feel fine. I like what I am. Why should I want to be alive Pinocchio?" her nose near his.
He put her at arm's length, squinted, then fervently, "You have to be like me. You have to become alive. Real flesh and blood," thrashing his arms, pinching his skin with his fingers.
Twirling and laughing in small circles with one of the moths, "Tell me why I should become alive. I can move. I can think. I can sing. I can hear. I can see. Why should I become like you?" smiling curious looks while twirling around a small fig tree. She stopped and stared at him.
He looked at her, then at the grave, then all about the garden. Finally he stared-off into his memories. He broke into a wide smile, "You need feelings, emotions, hopes, dreams. Life is love. Life is feeling good things, bad things. Love is so much. Two people loving each other become whole. They become one, that makes living complete."
She cocked her head slightly puzzled, "What is this bad and good? What is this complete? This becoming one?"
Pinocchio continued to explain of being alive, appreciating the emotions, the fulfillment of like, of love, of sex, of babies.
She shrugged, "I'll think about it," picking a flower.
The moths disappeared.
Pinocchio headed back into the shop, motioning for her to follow.
She did.
He continued his work on a cabinet.
She went to her window, peered-out holding the picked flower, musing to him, "I wanted flowers for such a long time, but how to tell you."
Smiling at her, "You are right. They make you look even prettier."
She smiled silently to him and gazed out the window.
The hours passed quietly while Pinocchio carefully carved a swirl pattern around the edges of the cabinet. She watched the outsiders straying past. And Pinocchio mused of possible heroic deeds: a runaway wagon; thwarting a robber; a fire rescue. Later they strolled slowly through the town waiting for a situation to occur for Pumkin to become a heroine, to become real, alive flesh and blood. So they could marry, become one, and make babies. And with that thought Pinocchio would smile and shimmer a shudder.
Pumkin would look curiously and mutter, "Babies? Babies," pointing to the mothers in the town park changing their screaming diapers. Broken arms, gout, flu, eating, shiting, dying, drunks, and jail; being flesh and blood didn't sound like too much fun to Pumkin.
III
Noticing the turning leaves and the migrating crows, Pinocchio concluded it was time to travel. To find a situation before the cold winter set in, "It's time to head south."
"Why?" Pumkin queried.
His fingers crossed behind his back, he blanked, "To take orders from the distant villagers for winter work. Most of our townsfolk won't order again till next spring," holding his secret wish to find a heroic deed for her beyond the city walls.
In the morning the couple left with the new light. Pinocchio's nap sack held a week's provisions, while Pumkin carried an empty basket to fill with pretty wild flowers. They passed through the town before the people rose and readied themselves for their day. Unseen, unencumbered, unquized Pinocchio hurried to the edge. Out among the corn stubble he slowed their pace.
No one knew they were on the road except the two white moths flitting high above their path.
Pumkin's curiosity took her to knell often to examine the plants along the field.
He tried to hurry her, "There's many beautiful flowers in the woods, hurry along, those are just weeds." There weren't any people, so no heroic deeds to do.
She took a plant from the ground and put it close to her eyes, "This is very pretty Pinocchio. What is it?" thrusting it up toward his face.
The first few plants he carefully inspected, telling her, "The tassel of corn. This is a pea leaf. And this looks like a dried alfalfa stalk." But soon he wearied, mumbling as he glanced at the foliage before him, "Weed. Weed. Just weeds. Come on. The real pretty ones are in the woods." He grabbed the plants from her hand, tossed them into her basket, and walked on and on and on.
Noticing how far he had gone, she laughingly skipped along the field path tossing flowers onto his footprints.
IV
Deep within the wood, under the tall elms, a wagon sat tilted. Its back wheel sunk in the shallow stream. Broken limbs lay scattered about the giant rock rolled near. For days the woman and her young sat by a fire waiting, waiting for someone to come, to loosen them.
Pinocchio had entered the wood only a few meters when the shadows took him back. There was nothing near, nothing penned a threat, nothing his senses could note. He turned toward the field sunlight. Somewhere Pumkin was; he couldn't lose her; maybe he should retrieve her. Then the softness of her sounds caught his ear. Soon her dance brought her to the wood. He waved his arms, holding his voice quiet not to disturb her song. She sang and danced to him.
The white moths flit about their feet.
Her arrival calmed him and he remembered the reason for their wandering. She spotted some flowers and knelt to gather. He sat to rest and to take lunch. Pumkin filled her basket with bluebells and tiny daises while he filled his belly with an apple, a carrot, and a piece of pumpernickel.
Oning his backpack, "I'm thirsty, let's move onward to find the stream." He took her free hand and they strolled happily through the shade trees.
At the first creek Pinocchio looked left and right in hopes of finding a puddle to cup a drink. But the rain had bypassed the wood for many a week, leaving the shiny pebbles dry at the bottom.
Pumkin slid down the crumbly bank and put an array of colored rocks in her basket. They crushed the flowers.
Pinocchio warned her of the weight breaking the basket's bottom.
She looked queer at him, "I don't understand, these are so little," holding one in her palm.
He joined her in the dry bed. Took her hand and began to fill her palm with the shinny rocks. Her hand lowered with each addition, until flat in the stream. "See what happens when you have too many."
She turned her hand and they rolled free. She began to pick through the basket, selecting glitty discards.
Pinocchio remembered his thirst, "Come on, let's move on. The next stream may have water." She joined him and they wandered hand-n-hand along the sun patches.
The silence of the wood between the two streams calmed Pinocchio. A distant hammerhead knocked a hypnotic pattern against a dead oak crown. And Pumkin hummed rhythm.
And the white moths flit through their slow moving legs.
A white trail of smoke broke the shadows, catching Pumkin's wonder. She pointed, asking of it.
"A fire. Probably some campers fishing. That should be the stream ahead," quickening his pace, pulling her along.
There sat the old woman, warming her hands. There sat the wagon up to its hub. There sat the young, making mud cakes.
Pumkin saw the young and skipped quickly to them, plopped in the mud and began singing and rolling mud balls. The young stopped and looked at the happy, funny face beside them. Quick wonderment glances shot among their shrugs. One by one took up the notes of her melody.
Pinocchio stood beside the fire, hands tempting the flames, "Your wagon?"
"Nope," flat eyes fixed on the coals, "belongs to dhem young dhere in dhe mud."
He stared at the gray hair under the knit cap, then nodded a look at the mud party, continuing, "How long you been here?"
"'Bout fifty years," cut the ancient voice across the flames, drawing the head of the youngest to her. Their eyes met, the coals sparked brighter, the tree leaves fluttered, and the wagon creaked lower into the earth.
Pinocchio shuddered a chill, "No old lady, here, stuck here."
She pointed to the wheel, "Yourn smart, yes sir, dhat's one stuck wagon."
He shrugged, ambled to the wheel and toed the mud under the axle. Glanced at the rock and the busted limbs, then stared at Pumkin singing in the mud. He shrugged, "No heroic deed." Turning to the old woman, "Where's your horse?"
She pointed down stream.
"Bring it here, I got an idea." gesturing toward the horse.
She slowed her way to retrieve the pony.
He arranged a rope over a limb, securing one end about the axle. The wheel in place ready to slip on the hub, he waited.
At the fork where the willows sway only during a northern gale, Pinocchio and Pumkin left the old woman and the young. She thanked them for getting the wagon aright. And the youngest smiled him a twinkle that tingled his toes. A blush immediately filled his cheeks and he turned his embarrassment to the thin leaves draped about the fork.
Pumkin took some mud balls from her basket and gave one to each of the young.
They sang and smiled good luck waves as the pony pulled the wobbly wheels through the dusty ruts.
Pinocchio turned to his wooden woman wondering, "Rescuing that old woman and brood stuck in the mud in the deep wood for days, seems heroic to me. And you helped, you did. Well sort of. You kept the young from harms way. Do you think the Blue Fairy will reward you?"
Peering up from the pages of her record book, the Blue Fairy smiled a no, then slipped from sight to the other side of Life.
Pumkin smiled, thumping a hard finger against her solid forehead, "I don't think so," then skipped along the leaf-covered lane. "How much further to the village?" spinning back a query to her perplexed love.
Pinocchio's thoughts were lost in the crackle of the dry leaves and the chirps of the blue jays. Suddenly he caught the cry of help. He stop-paused, cocked his head toward the motion of flailing arms, splashing water, and the gurgling pitch of a young girl. "Someone's in trouble? Come on! Come on!" rushing through the trees, ducking the large limbs, and crawling under the thorn thickets till snagged. He stopped to loosen his self and heard silence. Glancing back he saw her fingers, Pumkin was crawling.
"Hurry on! She's drowning, I'm sure of it." Loosening the snag, he crawl-ran with a smirk of anticipation, "Pumkin can save her. The Blue Fairy will make her alive then." He jumped up and broke into the clearing as the small arms flailed at the dark murk. At the edge, toes in the mud Pinocchio stopped, turned, and waved to Pumkin, "Hurry, hurry! She's sinking," pointing to the now smooth surface.
Pumkin ran full into his arms, "You have to. You have to save her!"
He gaped at her silent smile, grabbed her arms, and shook her, "What? What! She's drowning. Save her. Hurry!"
Pumkin stood calmly shaking her head, "I can't, I can't."
Eyes wide, pointing, looking to the water, twisting glances back to her, "What are you talking about. Hurry! Save her."
Frozen calm, "Can't, can't. I can't swim." Her silent smile met his panic.
"What?! What! What do you mean?" turning back to see the girl bob-up again for air. He glanced about confused and frustrated. He spied the Blue Fairy sitting atop a willow, book open, pencil in hand, watching. He looked at Pumkin, then back to the girl, "What?! What do you mean you can't swim! It doesn't matter, you're made of wood you dummy!" And he grabbed her and tossed her wailing through the air.
She skimmed across the surface to float within the grasp of the desperate hands. Water splashed over their fuzzy forms till the girl calmed atop Pumkin. Pumkin silently smiled.
He looked to the girls, then to the Blue Fairy, then back to the girls. Threw off his jacket and dove flat to Pumkin. He grabbed her right foot and swam to shore.
Sitting in the sun, the girl told of her sinking fishing boat. Once rested, she thanked them and left.
Pinocchio watched her disappear, looked to the Fairy's willow, empty. He shook his head slowly, dropping it to stare at the wet ground, a low moan emitted.
Pumkin tapped his shoulder, "What's the matter?"
"It's the Blue Fairy. She was watching us." He reached over, tapped her forehead, thud thud. He shook his head, "You could have tried. You could have saved her. You'd been a hero. You could be alive..."
Looking all around, Pumkin jumped up, "Where's the Fairy. Where's the Fairy?" She ran a few feet toward the drying leaves. Looked everywhere. Then ran right, calling, "Fairy. Fairy. Where are you?" Twirling and laughing, she spun towards Pinocchio. Stumbled and rolled, coming to rest at his feet. She silently smiled. "Pinocchio," drifted from her lips.
He raised his head and stared at her, "Yes?"
"Where's the Fairy?" her eyes awonder.
He cracked a grin, "The Blue Fairy is gone and so are we." He got up, pointing to the wood, "That way."
Getting though the wood went quickly, for Pinocchio had found a deer's trail and Pumkin stayed close, glancing at the treetops for the Blue Fairy. But the miles took their toll on Pinocchio, "I'm bushed. We'll camp there tonight," pointing to a large oak tree.
She smiled, "Yes that's a nice place, but I'm not tired. Can't we walk during the dark? It's so different. I like the blinking fire flies."
Falling to his back, staring at the new stars, "I've got to get some sleep. I'm beat. What a day."
Pumkin stood before him, staring, "That's part of being alive, isn't it? Getting tired. Lying down to rest. Sleeping away the time, missing the night."
His eyes stayed within his sleep.
She lay back musing, "I guess I should try resting." She noticed the stars' slow movement. Hours later a soft singing caught her attention; she sat up.
An elderly woman pushed a wheelbarrow, singing to herself, breaking the stillness. The new moon lit her aging shuffle through the crispy leaves.
As Pumkin stood to welcome the stranger a gruff voice held her motion.
Two shadows loomed about the woman, "Quiet. Don't move. We want your money. Your jewels. Now! And you live." One of the shadows pulled the bag from her shoulder. The other poked at the bundles in the wheelbarrow.
"Here you!" screeched bony knuckles at her assailant.
He ducked her fist and caught her follow-up kick, pulling her to the ground. Then thrust his boot at her ancient form, laughing deep, "And stay there." Feeling inside her bag, a string of pearls came free, "Ho Ho Ho. What's the likes of you havin' dhese."
Pumkin began to shake Pinocchio awake, whispering, "A robbery. Wake up." She hesitated, looked at the two shadows then at him, muttering, "He'll want me to save her, just like the others. So the Blue Fairy will bring me to life. So he can have his way to make his noisy babies."
He began to stir.
So she quickly patted him back to sleep. Then laid down, muttering, "Maybe there is something to this resting."
The shadows ran off with the string of pearls. And the old woman sent curses to chase them through the wood.
With the new sun Pumkin roused her maker, "Can we travel now?"
Pinocchio rose, stretched awake and grumbled of his empty stomach, "Hunger. I must have food. Hot food."
She peered at his lamenting, "Hunger is part of being alive?"
"Yes. And eating is a good part." patting his belly.
"Hunger is not a good part?" one eyebrow raised.
"No, but it's not that bad. We'll find a cabin. Then yum yum, a hot breakfast," grinning and rubbing his belly.
V
The wood thinned and a cabin soon appeared. The birds chirped while the squirrels hopped along the limbs listening to the tales of their feathered companions.
Pumkin asked him if he understood their talk, their grandiose stories. He sadly shook his head, "No, I no longer understand them. I seem to remember I could when I was younger."
She quick-ins, "Before the Blue Fairy put life in you?"
"Well yes, sort of," looking off, "but what they say...it doesn't matter. It's just chatter."
Pumkin silently smiled at the robin singing past her in flight toward the clearing pond, "Enjoy your bath Mrs. Robin." Looking at the squirrel, "I don't believe a word of it," as he swished his tail at their passing.
Pinocchio looked at her, "Do you understand them?"
She smiled silently, "Yes." Then frowned, "Now you are alive, but you can't?"
He turned embarrassed, "It doesn't matter. Come on, there's a cabin," grinning, patting his belly, "Food, yum."
From around back a horse and rider tramped circles in the corral; a dust cloud rolled through the lower slats. The noise, the motion, pulled Pinocchio from his hunger to the railing in curiosity, "What is it?" Knocking his hands at the cloud, "can't see a thing." He glanced about and spotted a large maple tree. He pointed to it, "Pumkin! Quick! Climb up there and see what's happening."
She walked to the tree and grabbed the lowest branch. Pulled herself up, one limb at a time, until she was at the top. Looking about she mused, "Now I see why the robin was so excited. I can see for miles and miles and miles."
Pinocchio swinging at the dust, called to her, "Pumkin! Pumkin. What is going on?"
She looked down into the corral and saw a girl fall from the saddle. Her foot caught in the stirrup and she was pulled along, dragging her fingers in the dirt, adding a new scream to the sound. "Pinocchio! Pinocchio. A girl is in trouble. She's fallen. The horse is dragging her. Hurry! Hurry! Help her," her arm aimed at the circling horse.
Shaking his head, "No no. Come down here. I, I don't like horses. Hurry, get down here. I can't see through this dust."
"Oh Pinocchio. You are right there. You save her. I'm up in this tree."
"No no Pumkin. You do it. I can't get near horses." And he ran over to the tree, "Hurry up. Get down here. You've got to save that girl."
"Oh Pinocchio. You, you, dummy. Alright," and she began to climb down. But on the second branch she slipped, lost her footing and toppled forward. Her foot caught in a fork and she tipped earthward. Swinging upside down, hands waving helplessly, dangling by one foot she smiled silently at Pinocchio, "Go save that girl."
Resolutely he shook his head and turned to the screams.
The horse had stopped by the water trowel and was sipping a drink, but the girl's pain and fear kept her yelping.
Pinocchio climbed the rails through the thinning cloud and wandered into the clearing center. There lay the girl; foot still stuck in the stirrup. He ran to her and took her foot loose. It plopped to the ground, snapping her awareness. She soon quieted.
Pinocchio squat beside her and soothed her brow, "Calm little one, you're free now. You're alright. Just skinned-up."
Her whimpers and tears dry; she looked to his face, "Thanks mister. I'm okay." Slowly got up, walked about knocking the dust off, shaking her feet, "Yea. I'm alright."
Pinocchio smiled, "Good. Say I'm pretty hungry. Can you make a hot breakfast."
She smiled, "Sure. It's the least I can do for my hero."
He looked at Pumkin waving her arms, high up in the tree.
The girl saw her too, "What happened to her?"
"Say do you have a long ladder about the place?" Pinocchio glanced all about him.
The girl smiled, "Yea, on the west side of the barn."
They carried the ladder to the tree and propped it beside. Pumkin smiled silently at them and pulled herself upright.
Foot loose, she climbed slowly to the ground. To the girl, "I'm glad you are alright. You looked pretty funny sliding upside down. You sure made a lot of dust."
The girl giggled, "Yea and you sure looked pretty funny swinging upside down in the tree."
The trio retired to the kitchen. Pinocchio filled his hunger with peach cobbler and coffee while the girls laughed again over their dangers.
The girl packed a lunch for Pinocchio.
Soon they were along the pathway toward the village.
Pumkin wondered aloud, "Just when are you going to find some customers? That is why we are taking this long walk, isn't it?"
"Yes yes Pumkin. When we get to the village, the other side of the river, we'll stop in to see a few shopkeepers I know. We'll get plenty of orders from them," his hand quicked to his nose, wondering.
"Well I did have to wonder. The drowning, the horse, the fire, the old woman." Pumkin watching his curious gesture replied.
Pinocchio heard his diversion, "What old woman?"
"Old woman? Did I say old woman?" looking back toward the town.
"Yes, old woman is just what you said. I don't remember seeing any old woman on the journey. Are you keeping something back?" peering into solid eyes he tried to divine the truth.
"Well," her fingers crossed behind her, "there was this old woman selling apples at the edge of town when we left. Didn't you see her?"
Pinocchio stared again at her solid yes, shook his head, "There's no seeing into your soul."
She smiled silently, "Soul. Soul? What's that? Something else about being alive?"
"Yes, yes you could say that. In fact the soul is the very heart of being alive. It is more than that; it is everything. Everything we are. It distinguishes each of us from the other. It is told by the scholars, the teachers, the priests, and the poets that the soul is eternal, is forever. And that our time, being alive on earth, is the test of the soul," his thumbs in belt loops, he looked to the sky.
Her constant silent smile, "Curious this soul. This eternity. What is the test?"
A mix of fear, wonder, and distance, "It is said it determines where and how we will spend eternity."
"There are choices? Are there many places?" slowly looking at the pathway, "Like where we are, these woods. Like what we've been doing?"
Scratching his chin, "I'm not to sure of the specifics that's what religious leaders know about."
Poking her finger into his soft belly, "This being alive sounds more and more troublesome. Do I have a soul? What do you think?"
Smiling a near grin, "Well, I think you have to be alive. Alive like I am now to have a soul. That's the difference. That's what the Blue Fairy can do for you. It's what she did to me."
Staring her silent smile, "And that's why you want me to be alive, to get a soul? I thought you wanted to make babies."
Pinocchio shied away, then turned slowly back to her, "It's all that. It's because I love you." His faced red, "I want all that for you. So we can both be alike, alive."
VI
At this juncture Pinocchio and Pumkin had gone through the wood, crossed a green meadow of clover, and were at the foot of a rotten, wooden bridge. At its center sat the cloak of the local priest.
The priest felt his time was done. He had come to the end of his journey. He had done his lord's work and now was to join him, to take his reward for his long devotion. He had completed his mission; his purpose for living was fulfilled. Swinging his feet from the edge, his thoughts mingled with the gush flowing through the boulders. His chosen method of leaving was by the intonement of the purifying waters. The long distance down to the gushing water, his destination.
Just before slipping off, his ears caught the discussion Pinocchio and Pumkin were having. Pinocchio's words held curious meaning. The priest wondered, "Is he trying to convert her. And just what is her not aliveness?"
His departure became side-tracked by the new challenge. Maybe he was wrong, maybe his work wasn't complete, maybe his lord implanted those thoughts to take him to this bridge, to be in the path of this lost couple. Was Pinocchio a lost soul? Or worse, a devil's henchman finally come to undo his years of consultation and solace at the village.
So intent in their discussion, they were upon the bridge and had stopped at the peak unseeing the priest ready to jump.
He called to them, "Say travelers can I help you from your confusion?"
Pinocchio stopped at this hailing and turned to see the frock's feet dangling over the edge. He glanced at the deep ravine, the water tearing at the rocks. The light of opportunity sparked his excitement again. Turning quick to Pumkin, he whispered, "That man," looking fast over his shoulder, "that priest is going to jump to his death. He's going to commit suicide." Pausing a long look at the frock, he grinned at Pumkin, "You're pretty. Go over there and save him. Flirt with him or something. Promise him...pleasure."
Leaning back, "What are you ranting about? Pleasure? What pleasure? The life you have been telling me of and all that I have seen, is terrible. Like I don't want any part of it. I'll just stay the way I am. The Blue Fairy made me like this and it's okay by me. You save him." She turned to watch the water run to the bridge.
By now the frock was really interested in this lost couple and had swiveled to his feet.
Pinocchio followed her, ranting, "Have some compassion. Help save that man from doing his self in."
Turning around staring at Pinocchio, she continued, "Compassion. What's that? More of your being alive?"
"Yes, yes, it's it's...it's another difference between us. Yes it's part of being alive. Part of what you don't want." He skewed his brow, looked at her from head to foot, frowning, "Now that I think about it, there's very little about you that is worth liking. Or even loving. And you don't even want to become alive, to be like me, do you?" continuing past her answer, "And all the hero stuff I've been doing, not you. Just how can the Blue Fairy make you alive?" Shaking his head, he dropped his hands to his pockets, "That rips it. I'm going home!" He turned and walked back toward his shop, his home, leaving the priest without even a nod.
The priest walked to Pumkin, tapped her on the shoulder, "Miss, I am a priest. I can help you."
Flashing her silent smile, "Thank you. I need no help," looking back to the stream.
He continued to minister to her, "Your mortal soul may be in jeopardy. Let me help while there is still time."
She turned to him, "Thank you, but I have no soul. And I like the way I am. Please," she turned toward Pinocchio's disappearing steps, "go help him."
The priest smiled, holding folded hands against his chest, "My poor child, of course you have a soul. Have you not been to church school?"
"School. What is that? Another part of being alive?" starring at the priest.
He nods his head in mild exclaim, "You are in dire need child, come with me to my village. There is a school and a place for you to rest. There is plenty of food. We will take care of you," his arms out-reached toward her.
Her silent smile broke, "Thank you, but I have no need of rest or food. Do tell me of this school."
He smiled warmly, "School is where children, all people, go to learn many wondrous things."
"To learn what? I like learning and doing things," spinning two circles before him.
The priest took her right hand and guided her toward his village, "Do you like to paint, to color, to make bird houses, to read, to write, to...," glancing at her dress, "to make clothes."
Pumkin saw some birds floating across the pathway, "I could get different clothes? And make houses for my bird friends?"
Putting his arm on her shoulder, drawing her close to him, "Yes my child, all the clothes you could need." Laughing, "Yes and a few houses for the birds. And on Sundays you will learn more about your soul."
Pumkin nodded a yes.
The white moths appeared about her feet.
The priest was relaxed and warmed throughout. He had a new member in great need to add to his flock. How foolish he had been. How mysterious his lord had been leading him so.
The Blue Fairy's feet damp, toes dipped in the stream. Perched on a moss-covered rock, she noted in her book the turn of time for the priest. Then marked on Pumkin's page: unknowingly saves Priest Pappins from suicide. She then slipped from sight to the other side of Life.
Near the village an archer was hunting a rabbit. A white tail dodged across the path before Priest Pappins and Pumkin.
Pumkin saw a bright purple flower and quick stepped in front of the priest just as a loosed arrow glanced off a twig. It slammed into her shoulder, thud. Its force knocked her off balance and she tumbled to the ground.
The priest, alarmed, let out a loud cry, "Ahhhhhhhhh."
The archer muttered to his self, "Damn, not again." He hid his bow and arrows in a log hollow. Then quick-ran to the screeching.
Pumkin sat, looking at the feathers, "Bluebird feathers on a stick. What is this thing?"
The archer slipped from cover, knelling beside her, "An arrow. It has to come out. I can fix it." He grabbed the shaft low, holding her shoulder firm and quickly pulled it loose. He took a scarf from his pocket, "Put this over the bleeding." Turning to the shocked priest, "Take your cloak off. We can carry her in it."
Pumkin stood, handing him the scarf, "Thank you, but I don't bleed. I am okay."
Both men looked at her as she moved her arm easily.
The archer, wide eyed, "What? Not hurt. Huh?"
Silent smile she took the arrow, putting it in her basket, "No not hurt. Thanks." She turned and walked back toward the bridge.
The archer shrugged his shoulder and began toward the trees, but the priest grabbed him, "Whoa there. I seem to remember your face. You are a hunter. That was your arrow wasn't it."
He glared at the priest, "She weren't hurt. You heard her. Let go!" He tore away; ducking under a thorn limb disappeared.
The priest called after his shadow, "The lord knows all. Repent sinner." Then he looked for Pumkin, who was slipping down the embankment under the bridge to pick the Golden Troll's water lilies.
The white moths sat one on each hand of the Blue Fairy.
The Blue Fairy noted in her book: unknowingly saves Priest Pappins from arrow death. She looked up through the bottom of a gray billowy, "That's two." She then slipped through to the other side of Life.
VII
Pumkin reached for a flower, grabbed it, and began to take it loose.
From the roots extended the troll's slimy hand. He wrapped his fingers around her wrist, pulling free from the water to sit quickly beside her, "That mine. Cost a drock."
Silent smile, "Who are you? What is a drock? Another part of being alive?"
"So you tooo foool," drooled his sound about her, "I play foool tooo." Smoothing his dangles over his face, "Drock not alive, but alive you."
She looked him over, the water dripping, shinning, sparkling gold, "You are very pretty. What are you, the Gold Fairy?"
Soft thunder rolled from his throat, he revolved his head twice then giggled as a child, "The foool nooo. You know, the color, she envies tooo. What? Am I what? This bridge I am the troll. This bridge I am. You owe. You cross, you owe. Two drocks." Sliding back into the cold stream, covered all but the slim from his open palm.
Pumkin starred at his hand then looked off, "Drock? Drocks are what the people gave Pinocchio for his work. I understand. I have no drocks. He has them all."
His palm sliding to her knee, his eye opened above the surface, "Two drocks tooo. For him, for you. Four now." His grip tightened, slowly pulling her into the depth.
The priest had hurried to catch them and had stopped at the bridge's focus. His hands cupped to block the sunshine; Pinocchio had disappeared. He shrugged his shoulders, dropped his hands, looked right upstream, then turned to look left down stream. The exchange of the motion below pulled the wondering priest to the railing.
Pumkin glanced-up at the bridge, spied the priest, and waved a hello.
The priest noted the slimy gold on her knee, the bulging eye, then shrieked, "Troollllll!" and ran from the bridge to the bank's edge. Then pounced back and forth agitated, torn by his duty to rescue her and by his fear of the hungry troll.
Suddenly the priest slipped, rolled down the steep rutted embankment, smashed his head unconscious, and tumbled Pumkin into the water. Their weighted force slammed the troll's footing loose. And the gushing torrent took him down stream.
Pumkin floated, of course, to the far bank with the priest wrapped about her. The cold water and his memory brought him wide-awake. He grabbed an oak root with his right and Pumkin with his left. They scrambled up the embankment and were upon the bridge looking down at the returning golden sheen.
The priest coed to her, "Are you alright?"
"Why yes. He is very pretty. Do you have four drocks?" she pointing to the troll.
Hand quickly into his pocket. And the coins as quickly extracted and carefully dropped into the open slimy palm. Heaving a sigh, "Now we can go," he turned toward his village wiping his brow.
VIII
The Blue Fairy popped-up on the bridge in-between Pumkin and Priest Pappins. Freezing the moment, she noted in her book: saves Priest Pappins from the Golden Troll, "That's three and sweetie, you're in." She flipped her wand. Then explained to Pumkin of her unwitting heroic deeds and of her reward: Life.
Before her protest sounds could erupt, a sparkle filled Pumkin's eyes. In that timeless moment Pumkin was filled and overwhelmed with humanness.
The Blue Fairy slipped away to the other side of Life again.
Priest Pappins returned to his parish with renewed zeal, knowing somehow he had helped two young lovers come together.
Pumkin sped to find her love. She quick-ran over the bridge calling, "Pinocchio! Pinocchio. I love you. Wait. Wait!"
Pinocchio hadn't gotten very far. Anger had changed to depression and finally to non-caring. He had sat down under a maple tree defeated. When he heard her running, calling his name, and whealing emotion he bounced forward. Love emitting chants and motions brought him to his feet. He saw the transformation, "She's alive! She's alive." And he stormed off to meet her.
Pumkin stood before him, "I am sorry I hurt you. I didn't mean to. I didn't understand. I do love you," grinning, blushing, and flustering her arms.
He exclaimed, "You love me? You are alive now?"
Eyes wide full, chest swelling hunger, "Yes! Yes!"
He took her shoulders, happily, "How can this be. What happened? What did you do?"
Parting a smile, gesturing to the unseen, "The Blue Fairy did it. I saved the priest from harm, from dying three times."
Pulling back, "You did not want to be alive. You did not want to be a hero, to save anyone."
Dropping her head for a brief second, "True. They were accidents, yet I still saved his life."
Brushing her loose hair aside, "And you really love me. You want to marry me?" his eyes wide with hope.
She took her hands to his.
Their love pulled them together in embrace.
They returned to the shop where they married in the garden beside the Cyprus tree.
The white moths danced their mating ritual.
And Pumkin and Pinocchio lived happily ever after.
### the end. Summer - Fall 1990.
RETURN TO INDEX index
"A calm sea today Captain Rodney," the toothless smile continued, "A fine day to mend that forward sail." The first mate slowly looked from the torn flap above to the distant calm, his gray sight twinkling.
Pulling his hand from the wide velvet sash about his waist to salute the new sun, Captain Rodney nods a yes.
The first mate points two stubs at the worn sails, "Get to that forward sail you rubs!" Slashing a nicked, but highly polished saber at memories, he quicks 'round, "Robert Sims, get the needles, the thread. Mend it afore dusk." Slashing another phantom, he slams the point into the planks about his left heal.
Sims bolts upright from the shade, "Ay yea bee!" takes two short steps, grabs both rails and jump-slides to the first deck, disappearing below.
Three sailors shinny-up thick knotted ropes halfway to the main rigging. Four other white clad sailors amble slowly from their resting places to gather below the mast.
The first mate takes his saber loose and wheels a slur of sound to hurry the crew under the sail, "You low minded land lubing duck chasers best catch every square inch!" swinging his glitter and poking his dull hook at the grumbling crew lined under the slow falling main sail.
Draped about the mast the three climbers, hand-over-hand, slow timed the steady rigging ropes, humming a favorite love ballad. The sail lowered to waiting hands. Captain Rodney stands in silence beside the steersman over-viewing the work.
The wheel tied in place for a distant Jamaican port, Steersman Tod, more resting on the spokes than guiding the relic below their feet, sniffs the passing air. In more years than Tod could even guess at he had not seen his homeport. He leaned against the wheel, sniffing, then turned a few spokes left. Hours later he turned one to the right, "I can smell her Cap'. I can!"
"I'm sure you can Tod. That's the one thing that I am sure of," grinned Captain Rodney looking for a signal from the crows-nest.
The steersmen always found land, almost always near a port, that's what they did. The sailors' lives depended on the steersman's ability to guide to a port before the rations ran out. The difference between a good and a great steersman was gauged on how many storms hit the ship. A novice steersman would stand and learn for years, and test for more before a captain would let them solo. The share was less than a captain's, but the prestige amoung all was the most.
Captain Rodney, settled with the mending, took to his cabin to mull over the books. He was very thorough. He tripled checked the cargo, its condition, calculated and re-figured every possible trade the next port merchants might make. Being low on rations left the ship at a definite disadvantage. While knowing the current wants, needs and values at the other ports held a counter advantage. A successful captain left port with a cargo hole full and smiles on the wharf merchants.
Seldom came the opportunity over the bounding seas for variant ship captains to converge information about the markets of the divergent trade routes. So Captain Rodney would send the crew on shore to scout the stores and bends of the merchants. Meanwhile he would double-check the cargo and his figuring. The next port's plan was to trade twenty bales of cotton for ten barrels of coca nuts and ten barrels of coffee beans.
On deck the ropes were loose as the riggers had the torn sail down. The men sat diligent upon the careful task. Suddenly the silent work was shattered by the screech of a found, hungry, frightened little boy. His fantasy had taken him further along in his explorations, his pretending than ever before. He had followed in wonderment of the loud, rowdy, bawdy, multi-colored sailors scuffling their noise over the ancient cobbles of the small fishing village at the foot of a sleepy volcano.
The ship had docked for fresh water three days prior. Who could blame a young boy's imagination being triggered, being drawn into the merriment of such beautifully dressed, scouting sailors? Wearing bright, billowy sleeves of red, yellow, blue and green silks trimmed by soft orange and dimmed purple satins woven and stretched by the diligent fingers of Robert Sims during the long voyage from the acclaimed port of Hong Kong.
The shiniest belt buckles ever hammered by Grecian blacksmiths were easily exchanged for a few bolts of crushed blue velvet. And the Hong Kong velvet traded up for Norsemen black leather knee boots and the wide saber holding waist belts. Scottish felt became hats to hold Australian ostrich feathers, which were soon traded, to Turkish sword makers and again in turn for Chinese gunpowder.
These travelers, these men of the sea, these boisterous sailors were called pirates. For after thousands of empty miles of water, they turned the gay greetings of trade and party exchanges; those chance meetings along the high seas, into grandiose battle stories. The crew bantered those tales amoung themselves while strolling their home ports to impress the women, to frighten their men folk, and to set the wharf merchants on edge.
The young at heart and the children swarmed about these rowdy, sea-hard men, warming their innocent wonder. A loud, fun celebrating time was had by all while these pirates were in their homeport. They made sure of that, so too did the children so bored by their chores and their books.
And as occasion had it, so again was a port-child drawn by the flare, the fun, and the frolic. Darting from corner to stairwell, to doorway to alleyway, he ran behind, aside, and finally ahead of the crew of the Queen Z to arrive at the dock just as the men were involved with some loose ropes about a crate of porcelain dishes Captain Rodney, his self, had come to check upon.
A dozen barrels of fresh apples stood next in-line for the cargo hole. The last barrel, near the boy, had been popped open to feed the hungry loading crew. It's lid sat ajar, the barrel near empty, the boy's nose and curiosity had him inside pulling the lid overhead tight. He sat in nervous excitement.
The ropes tight, the voices quiet, the pulleys squeaked as the men towed the delicate load shipward. Their jubilant yelling, their loud laughter and each gesture magnified the task of loading the fragile dishes. Such events always drew the town idle until the cargo sat padded in the hole.
One by one the apple barrels took their space. The boy's barrel lid got nailed shut. He stayed quiet for two days and a night, finally yelping for help. And once again another land creature became a sea roamer.
One dark night there was a cannon battle between a real pirate ship and the merchant Queen Z.; the roar awoke the boy. The cannon balls tore through the sails, knocked the riggings down, splintered masts and killed many of the crew. Then the two ships smashed together and remained locked as the two crews fought with their swords.
The boy crept from his sleeping place below the stairway near the steering wheel. There below him on the deck fought the captains of the ships. Captain Rodney was out numbered by two sailors in bright blue shirts with white collars welding silver swords. They were slowly pinning Captain Rodney into a corner.
The boy grabbed a tangle of rope and threw it down, tangling their swords. Captain Rodney then quickly speared each to his death, smiling up to the boy.
That turned the battle and all the men stopped fighting. They stood silent, looking at each other until Robert Sims called loudly, "The Bonnie Bay is sinking! And her captain is dead. Our captain lives! We win!"
Captain Rodney climbed the stairs, took his place aside the steering wheel. Smiled, waved his sword 'round his head three times then placed it in its place on his belt.
All the men did the same.
The dead were thrown onto the sinking ship.
Captain Rodney then climbed onto the sinking Bonnie Bay. He quicked to the other captain's cabin. Broke into the treasure cabinet, then hauled the chest to the railing and secured a rope about the handles as the water rose to his ankles. He jumped onto a rope and pulled his self onto the deck and then pulled the chest up from the disappearing Bonnie Bay with its cargo of dead.
Once back on the steering deck he told the men how the boy had saved his life, turning the battle. The men cheered. As the sun set, an island appeared and so the ship anchored. Captain Rodney, two mates, and the boy took half the treasure in the dinghy to shore. Whereupon the chest and its treasure was buried in the middle of a hedge circle.
The crows-nest man always noted the hiding places on a map from his mast view. He would then disguise the map with a portrait painting of a crewman's likeness. This particular treasure map he painted the likeness of the boy. Completed days later, it was hung with the others on the captain's cabin wall.
A month later the Queen Z docked in Upper Barbazzan for fresh water. And as tradition had it, the boy was captured outside a silver maker's tent by the crew of the Molly Dagger. Through all the many seasons at every port the Queen Z crew asked of the flying colors of the Molly Dagger. But never did their paths cross again.
The boy adapted to the new crew easily, pirates being about the same everywhere. Growing and learning the many tasks of the ship. From food preparation to rope repair and from sword polishing to cannon loading, this youth mastered each task with complete abandonment and enthusiasm. He took to his cabin chores and won the respect of the other men with his needle and knot work.
Over the course of the next decade many adventures befell the Molly Dagger. And the occasional battle took its toll. During a fierce fight the two captains fell overboard and drown, ending the battle.
The boy challenged to become the new captain. There were many trials of skill: rope climbing, and swinging, swimming completely around the ship at sail, sword fighting, pistol shooting, cannon firing, steering commands and arm wrestling. After the long months of elimination, the boy won his captain's hat: Captain LongJon.
Captain LongJon guided his crew successfully about the seas trading, enjoying and entertaining many of the port people.
Then one fateful afternoon the Molly Dagger landed in a port of fear. The townsfolk there had had to pay tribute to tyrant pirates for the past three years. A black flag ship would dock and the crew would storm into town, screaming and waving their swords and firing hand pistols. Making such a fearsome noise the shopkeepers quickly ran for shelter outside of town. The pirates would then loot, taking what food stores and other booty they took a fancy too.
As the crew of the Molly Dagger docked and began their usual rowdy entrance into the town, the townsfolk again quickly ran out of town, feared of another pirate ship.
The crew of the Molly Dagger found themselves in a ghost town. An abandon village with shops full of goods and stores of food. By tradition the entire crew took a share of any found treasure. Be it at the trading market or from the gains of the battles that made them pirates. So they too took from these abandon shops: gold, silver, and pearls.
The crew and Captain LongJon left, arms full constantly looking over their shoulders, wondering of the townspeople. It wasn't their habit to steal, but this strange, found treasure was a good omen. They had a big celebration that night and planned to return the next trip around the horn.
During the passing months the raids of the ghost port by the usual black flag pirates had left the stores near empty. So the townspeople held a meeting to find a way to save themselves from starving at these pirates' hands. They knew they couldn't leave, to move to a new port was an impossible idea. Finally they resolved to meet the pirates in the street to chase them off or to die trying.
When Captain LongJon and his Molly Dagger crew came back on their return route, they stopped at the ghost port. But this time they were met by the port people.
The mayor took the speaking roll, "You can not rob us any more. Our shops are near empty and we will not run in fear again to die from starving by your thieving hands." The port people became loud with their support and a battle seemed near.
Captain LongJon looked at his men. They raised their swords and let loose their charge calls, standing ready.
The port people quieted, but stood their ground.
Captain LongJon spoke, "We are not here to rob anyone. The first time we came here to trade some moons ago, this was a ghost port, so we took what we wanted. We saw no people."
The mayor called back, "Aren't you the pirates from the black flag ship that have been robbing us these past years?"
The Molly Dagger crew laughed and exchanged scowls at the mayor, "We are not. They are the worst of the breed. They fight women and weak old men and run from a fair fight. We are not like them. We are merchant pirates. We would rather trade goods. We are here to trade."
The mayor signaled to lower weapons; the port folk did.
Captain LongJon's crew lowered theirs.
Then the mayor and the captain made a fair settlement for the 'stolen/found goods' and bartered for a portion of the Molly Dagger's cocoa and silk.
Afterwards a grand celebration was had by all.
### the end. Spring 1991.
RETURN TO INDEX index
Little more than a shadow, the man seemed lumbering into the village from the northern route. His head bent downward, eyes fixed for the shallowest puddles. A faceless, darkened form engulfed by his worn hat and the enlarged lapels of his overcoat; he was an unknown part of the darkness until each lightning bolt exposed the glistening rain droplets on his outer garments. Only then was his presence actual, yet even the sharpest vision might mistake his form for shrubbery.
During the longer interludes of light an astute observer could note the gait of bobbing motion, a limp, not one of gout or rheumatism or by war's mark, but one of poverty. A pain and soreness of the left extremity caused by a sizeable hole worn through the sole of the boot. Many a jagged stone of a hundred miles had nestled into this man's foot flesh.
The cloud's constant torment had hampered his choice of a smoother path. And his hunger had been as constant for the rains kept all the game he might have caught for his meal hidden in their homes.
The spirits of this starved, soaked limp of a man of no means brightened as he spied the contours of the coming village. There meant shelter, the warmth of fire and possibly the shared food of some generous soul. His pace quickened, his stature straightened erect and the pain of the rocks passed away forgotten by the promise of a welcoming smile.
The wind quieted to a calm and even the rain slackened to light drizzle, this was a journey's end. His humor did not diminish even after house past house of darkened state the village lie. Without a timepiece he was unaware of the hour. His arrival had found the workers at rest.
He pressed on winding through the streets. His eyes anxiously awaiting a window candle light. His mind rehearsing his ill plight and plea for the night's shelter. His wait for warmth was not long, for as he rounded a street corner he found himself aside the lit window of the Dragon's Inn. A fire flamed in the hearth and as he saw it, he was beside it tossing off his cloak and hat. His haste was so that even a bolted door could not have held him back.
The inn was vacant as the hour was late, near closing and all the village comers had departed for their sheets of satin. The innkeeper was finishing his closing chores and had yet to greet his late customer. Being the proprietor for three decades, he knew to keep his peace. He had seen and served many a traveler. This man was tired, cold and very wet, he would not hasten him regardless of the hour.
II
It was rare to be awakened from his slumber by a call for his help, but it was not unusual. He was the peace officer of the village and was subject to respond when needed. But never had he been summoned by a priest and at such an hour. There were noises in the church, things falling over, loud crashes; the distraught priest exclaimed. The officer was dressed and running toward the church before the priest had closed the door to follow. As he entered silently from the side door he heard the close of the front doors. He clamored up the pews, knocked open the doors and stumbled down the steps.
He was on his feet and listening. He heard a wagon roll away from his right, but from his left came a crash of cans and a yelp, he choose that his path of pursuit. He ran as a hound for a rabbit, but fell over the very cans he had heard to guide his chase and lay dazed as the thief scampered safe to his home.
Once revived, the officer, finding himself abreast the Dragon's Inn, ambled to the doorway and entered planning to quiz the keeper over a warming shot of bourbon. Had the keeper heard anything or seen anyone in the past few moments, he queried. Why of course the inn man had, as he pointed to the just arrived vagabond drying himself at the fire.
This was beyond mere coincidence. There at the fire was his thief, a shrewd man he must be to sit calm in a public place after having committed such foul work in the church. Shrewd or no, this officer was not to be fooled. Down to the jail he would haul his captive. And there he'd stay until a confession was recorded. Two or maybe three days of intense interrogation at most would resolve this night's wretched deeds. With few words did the officer handcuff, collar and tow the worn traveler to his new lodgings, the village cell.
III
The wander's luck had changed and he was delighted. At the fire in the inn he had begun to fret for soon the proprietor would take his order. Food, drink or bed to sleep he must pay for or back into the rain he must fly. Alone an unpaying tramp, as he, would keep the innkeeper from his bed only mere moments. The officer arrived timely. The vagabond had not clearly understood the allegations against him, but the subsequent jailing provided the night's adequate shelter. And with the coming of the sun so would a meal.
The meager breakfast tempered his hunger and he rested back to sleep awaiting lunch. He had sought work in this village. There was none in a cell, yet fate had provided temporary food and lodging. He had only to explain his arrival and deny the charges. Today he was a contented man; tomorrow or soon enough would bring his release. His innocence last evening likened to his nature at the day of his birth, pure. And a man of clear conscious fears little. He maintained his innocence and ignorance of the theft at the church. He knew nothing of the disappearance of the church candles. He was not involved, he claimed. He had come to this village seeking work. He was an honest, hard worker and not a cunning thief.
The officer's threats did not unnerve him; he was uninvolved and had nothing to confess. The days passed with hours of continuous questions, revealing only his innocence. His strength mounted with each meal and his health steadied from the warm sleep.
After the fifth day the traveler was released, free to seek work where he may. He was now sound and fit from his stay in the cell to service any employer. And straight away his path lead to the parish doors. He told the priest he knew of the candle theft from the peace officer and asked to be hired to help remake the church's stock. He being a handy man of years knew this trade also. He was given room, board and fair wages to replenish the parish candles.
### the end. Spring 1978.
RETURN TO INDEX index
INDEX
PROJECTS NEED PLANNING
KEEPING AN EYE ON FRIENDS ON OUTINGS
PLANNING FOR TOMORROW
TAKING TURNS
TELLING WHERE GOING
PROPERTY RESPECT
ASKING FOR HELP
PUTTING THINGS AWAY
GIVING THE RIGHT HELP
The story opens with Babbet dusting his dining table.
Boak and Wiggy arrive for tea. As they are seated, Kanga and Fop arrive. Tanga seats them.
Jigger and Haymore arrive. Babbet invites them in, fretting about where to seat them as they crowd around the table.
Nowl arrives and calls to Babbet how cramped his home is.
"Yes, too little," they all say.
Babbet suggests Nowl entertain them instead. He declines saying his home is much too small.
Babbet suggests the same to each one and they in turn say their homes are too small.
Everyone stands crowded and cramped around the table.
Nowl says, "A big house, Babbet you need a bigger home."
Babbet declines, saying his home is fine for him, but a bigger house is needed for tea parties.
Jigger says, "A bigger house, a bigger house, let's go build a bigger house. A club house."
They all agree and Babbet heads them outside.
They look around and head toward the stream and decide that is a good spot.
Babbet picks up a stick and begins to draw in the dirt a four sided, slant-roofed clubhouse.
Nowl says, "Alright Babbet you draw it."
When Babbet is finished, Nowl assigns the works, "Jigger you build two walls, Boak you build two walls, Tanga you build the roof, Haymore you do the floor and Fop and Wiggy make the doors."
Jigger bounces up and down. "Do it, do it."
Everyone nods and they proceed to make their parts. They sing a 'whistle while you work' song.
Babbet walks around looking and making suggestions to each one. When everyone is finished he tells Nowl, who begins the assembly orders.
Boak's and Jigger's walls are four different sizes and are wobbly tied together.
Wiggy's and Fop's doors are too small for the wall openings.
And the roof is too small to fit snugly.
After assembling the clubhouse they stand back looking at their ill-fitted building.
Fop comments, "Maybe tea parties on rainy days should be held elsewhere."
They begin to smile slowly at their haphazard jobs. Soon they are all laughing and pointing at their mistakes. They tire and begin to quiet.
Nowl looks at Babbet and he at him, in unison they say, "The measurements."
Everyone laughs, "Back to the drawing board."
Babbet returns to his drawing where he and Nowl figure the necessary measurements.
Then the assignments are given out.
The clubhouse is taken down and the parts are remade by a happy singing crew.
The clubhouse is slowly reassembled, this time with every part fitting snugly in place, doors too.
The scene closes with them dancing and singing around their new clubhouse.
### the end. 19 September 1983.
KEEP AN EYE ON YOUR FRIENDS ON OUTINGS
The scene opens with Boak, Wiggy, Jigger and Haymore gathering jars and picnic things at Boak's for a honey gathering picnic.
They then walk through the woods singing the virtues of honey and picnics. Jigger has the happy lead with Boak singing behind him, followed by a humming Haymore and a whistling Wiggy.
Time passes and Wiggy walks around a tree taking a path left of the others and gets tangled in overhanging vines. He mumbles for help, but the others can't hear him over their merriment.
Jigger finds a picnic spot to his liking and bounces around as the picnic things are spread out. Just then Boak smells honey and announces, "Honey tree, follow me."
Boak leads them just past the tangled Wiggy, who mumbles for help, but is not heard by the happy, singing honey-seekers.
Soon the tree is found. All the jars filled and the three-some sing their way back to the picnic spot, again passing a struggling, mumbling Wiggy.
On the picnic cloth, Boak hands, "A jar for Jigger, a jar for Haymore, a jar for Wiggy." But Wiggy isn't there to take it from him and they realize that and in unison say, "Where's Wiggy?" while looking at each other.
Boak smiles saying, "Why, eating honey at the honey tree."
Haymore says, "Well let's go see."
Jigger bounces up, "Follow me."
They head back toward the honey tree singing loudly and happily and walk right past a stuck, mumbling Wiggy again. At the honey tree, the singing stops for there is no Wiggy.
Again Boak brightens up, saying, "Well of course he isn't here, he ate all the honey and is back at the picnic just where he should be."
Boak leads them again toward the picnic and Jigger begins to chant, "Not at the picnic, not at the tree, just where oh where could Wiggy be?"
(Song theme - Keep an eye on your friends.)
Boak is also mumbling to himself as to Wiggy's whereabouts. And then again the three pass a still tangled Wiggy.
Suddenly Haymore's ears perk up. He stops, turning his head toward a mumbling Wiggy. Haymore says, "Quiet."
And Boak and Jigger stop. They all hear Wiggy and rush to him. They pull the vines from around him.
With the reunion there is a lot of hugging and Haymore is congratulated for his sensitive ears.
Wiggy tells of his dilemma and how they passed him, "I sure am glad you finally missed me. I was afraid."
Boak says, "Well, we did miss you and we're sure glad we found you. Let's go have some honey."
The scene closes with the four of them arm-in-arm walking, singing the virtues of honey and picnics.
### the end. 19 September 1983.
The scene opens with Boak's hand in an empty honey jar. He is troubled to discover that all his honey jars are empty, even his rainy day jar.
He gathers up his jars and goes to invite Wiggy to accompany him.
Where Boak invites him to join them on an outing, it being such a fine day for a walk. Haymore agrees, not sure of the day's nicety. Boak asks Haymore to be sure to bring his saddle basket.
All hike through the wood singing about the fun of gathering honey and haycorns.
After a long walk through the wood, Boak smells a honey tree. They fill the jars. Then Wiggy says, "Now to find the haycorns."
Boak agrees, but after a snack of honey. He passes a jar around.
Wiggy is then ready to go, but Boak says, "Just a little more." He keeps eating until all the honey is gone. He tries to get up, but is too full to move.
Wiggy and Haymore try to help him up, but can't. Boak says they'll just have to wait for a while.
Time passes and it starts to get dark and Boak still can't get up. They agree they will have to stay the night. They fall asleep as it gets dark.
In the middle of the night Boak wakes up to a loud rumbling. He looks around frightened and mumbles, "It's the Fizzels. Oh no, the Fizzels."
That wakes up Haymore and Wiggy.
Boak tells them he heard the Fizzels. They look around very frightened. They tremble.
Then Boak's stomach growls again and he jumps up frightened, muttering, "The Fizzels, the Fizzels, oh no."
Haymore laughs and explains that the rumbling is just Boak's upset stomach.
Boak shyly pats his tummy and begins to smile. Wiggy is smiling too. They lay back down to sleep.
The sun rises, waking them.
Boak says, "Time for breakfast," then looks around at the empty honey jars. He saddens and is sorry that he ate it all.
Wiggy pats his tummy and says, "If we had saved some of our honey, we could have had breakfast today. There's no haycorns either."
Boak apologizes again. He then brightens up and says, "Honey? The wood is full of honey. We will just go find some for breakfast right now."
Haymore says, "Haycorns too."
Boak agrees.
They all smile and begin following him as his nose leads them to another honey tree.
Boak quickly begins to fill the jars as Haymore notices haycorns on the ground. And he and Wiggy begin to gather them into piles: Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday.
### the end. 19 September 1983.
The story opens with Tanga twirling a jump rope vine, the other end tree attached. Jigger is jumping the vine and keeping count.
Fop is by the tree watching and bobbing his head as Jigger jumps.
Haymore arrives, watches and begins to bounce a little as Jigger jumps.
When Jigger misses he begins counting over again.
Haymore is bouncing a little more enthusiastically.
(Song about counting and taking turns.)
Tanga asks Haymore if he would like a turn. He nods yes. And Jigger says, "You can be next, after I get to five."
Jigger misses and begins again, many times.
Haymore's bouncing begins to slow down with each of Jigger's misses and re-beginnings. Finally he just stands still. Soon he turns to leave.
Jigger gets to five and says, "Come on Haymore, it's your turn."
Haymore, who has begun to walk away, turns, "I don't feel like jumping anymore. I want to see Boak," and leaves.
Fop says, "I'm going with Haymore. Boak will give him a turn."
Jigger continues to jump, but gradually slows to a stop, "What did Fop mean?"
Tanga reviews Haymore's behavior adding, "Maybe we should have give him a turn sooner."
They leave to find Haymore.
(Song of turn taking.)
Boak, Nowl and Babbet are crowded in front of a hollow tree.
Babbet says, "That one looks like my uncle and that one over there looks like my second cousin."
Boak and Nowl agree how cute they are. They continue push looking.
Haymore and Fop arrive. Fop quips a loud, "Hello, what's happening?"
Boak turns, greets them and tells of the new baby bunnies in the hollow.
Haymore brighten, "Let me see." Fop adds, "Give us a turn."
Babbet says, "Oh yes, you must see these beauties." Haymore walks toward the tree as Boak and Babbet turn their attention back to the babies.
Haymore ambles up to the tree and tries to get in-between them, but is crowded back. He tries again, but is pushed back again. He backs away and finally turns to leave.
Babbet says, "Haymore what do you think of the one in the corner?" With no answer, Babbet looks up to see Haymore leaving. He asks, "What's with him?"
Fop quips, "Maybe it was his turn to go home," and explains the jump-rope scene. Boak goes, "Oh no, we must fetch him back." And leaves after Haymore.
At Haymore's, Boak and Fop call to Haymore, "Come out, it's your turn to see the babies, come on Haymore."
Finally, shyly Haymore goes with them. When they arrive at the hollow tree, Nowl knowingly stands aside the tree and says, "First Haymore, when he is done then Fop, then Babbet and Boak then me. Everyone will have a turn with no crowding."
The story ends with Haymore looking in the hollow saying, "What cute babies. We should go find Tanga and Jigger so they can see too," as they arrive on the scene.
### the end. 21 September 1983.
The story opens at the clubhouse with the Corner Characters playing hide-n-seek.
Wiggy comes in first, "I'm home free." Haymore is slowly looking for everyone, unsuccessfully. Wiggy looks bored.
The scenes alter from Haymore's bypassing hiders and from Wiggy sitting alone at the base, becoming gradually bored.
Wiggy finally says to himself, "This isn't exciting," and leaves for his secret place without telling anyone.
Finally everyone is home free.
Haymore says, "Wiggy, you came in first, so it's your turn to be 'it'." No answer, no Wiggy.
Boak says he must be hiding again. He calls loudly - no Wiggy.
They look all around the clubhouse.
(Song about Wiggy - "Where have you gone - you didn't tell us.)
They gather at the base, worriedly discussing the possibilities: hiding extra good, lost, hurt, captured by the Humpbumps. They break-up into search groups.
The scenes flash between Wiggy at his secret place acting out a rescue of Fop from the Humpbumps and the separate search parties.
When the searchers re-group at the base, they tell of where they looked.
Tanga suggests he may be at his secret place.
Boak thinks not, "Because you can't hide in a secret place, it's already secret."
Haymore suggests again that he may have gone home, Boak thinks not, yet they agree to look there - just in case.
At Wiggy's home they discover no Wiggy and begin to fret of the Humpbumps again.
Just then Wiggy arrives and they cheer and hug him and ask where he was hiding. He tells them he wasn't hiding; he was in his secret place.
Boak pipes up, "See, you can't find a secret place."
Tanga agrees and adds, "Wiggy we were worried. Please tell us when you go to your secret places next time."
Wiggy nods, "Okay, but I can't tell you where it is cause it's a secret."
They all laugh.
### the end. 21 September 1983.
The story opens with Babbet setting his table for a tea party singing, "Cups and saucers - yes, then spoons all around." And he counts each place, "Oh no, one is missing, what to do?" He looks in his china cabinet. No spoons and he looks up remembering, "I loaned one to Boak. Oh no, they'll all be here soon. I must hurry."
(Song - 'Where oh where are my things'.)
Babbet scurries to Boak's. There he tells Boak he needs his spoon back for a tea party.
Boak says, "What time should I come?"
Babbet puts his hand to his head, "The spoon please, I'm late."
Boak looks in different places and can't find the spoon. Finally he pulls the spoon from a honey jar. He licks it clean, hands it to Babbet.
Babbet holds it up, "It's bent!"
Boak takes it back and bends it, looks it over shaking his head.
Babbet grabs it, "That will have to do, I'm late," and scurries home. Babbet hurriedly places the spoon in place, overviews his perfect table.
Nowl knocks, enters, complimenting, "Such a well set table."
Tanga arrives, greets Babbet and to Nowl says, "That's a very nice scarf you are wearing."
Nowl responds, "It is very warm too. Kind Babbet loaned it to me." He takes it off and drops it on a chair, but it slips to the floor.
Tanga starts to comment of it, but Jigger comes bounding in, "Jigger's love a tea, a tea for me, Jigger's and tea." He bounces down on a chair too hard. It breaks under him, 'crack'.
They all look at the chair.
Boak arrives. He immediately picks up a spoon from the table saying, "I'm sorry about bending your spoon, let me fix it better."
Jigger looks at the broken chair and says he is sorry about breaking it, "Jigger's fix chairs best."
Nowl looks at Babbet and then at the scarf. He picks it up from the floor, dusts it off and puts it carefully on the back of a chair, "I'm sorry I got your scarf dirty, Babbet."
(Song - 'Taking care, fixing other's things.')
Tanga looks at Boak with the spoon, Jigger fixing the chair and at the scarf saying, "Babbet I think we've all learned a lesson today."
Babbet coughs slightly, "Let's have tea, my friends."
Boak adds, "With honey too?"
Babbet laughs, "Honey too, Boak."
The story ends with everyone singing of tea, friendship and care of other's things.
### the end. 21 September 1983.
The story opens with Tanga, Fop and Jigger at the breakfast table discussing their preparations for the 'pie party'.
Jigger, "I'll move the rock from the pathway, then get the apples."
Tanga, "I'll get the dishes from the trunk and make the pies."
Fop, "I'll wash the dishes and taste the pie."
Outside, Jigger tries to move the rock. Inside, Tanga tries to move the trunk. Sitting in the window, Fop alternatively watches both.
The scenes flip from an unsuccessful Jigger and Tanga. Fop quips to Tanga, "More muscles mom, more muscles," and to Jigger, "go for it Sampson."
(Song - Sometimes you need two.)
Jigger, "Jiggers hate moving things, Jiggers gather apples best." He bounds over to the apple tree, but can only reach a few.
Tanga mutters, "It's too heavy for me," and sits down to rest.
Jigger brings in his few apples and puts them on the table, "The rock was too heavy and the apples are too high for Jiggers."
Tanga adds, "And the trunk is too heavy for me."
Fop looks at the few apples and adds, "I like small pies"
Jigger asks, "How did you get the trunk under the table?"
Tanga tells of Boak's help.
Jigger says, "Jiggers help get trunks out best."
Together they pull the trunk out. And Tanga says, "Maybe we can move the rock together, too."
At the rock, they push and pull unsuccessfully.
Fop quips, "More muscles, more muscles."
Tanga agrees, "Yes we need more help."
Jigger adds, "Let's go get Boak."
(Song - Sometimes you need three.)
At Boak's, they find him collecting his honey jars for a search. They tell him of their rock and ask his help. He asks if there might be a honey tree.
Fop quips, "Bees love apple blossoms."
Boak agrees, "Yes apple blossom honey is great."
Fop adds they have an apple tree.
Boak says, "Then let's go."
At the rock, Boak is sniffing as they begin pushing the rock. It comes loose and rolls into the apple tree, knocking many apples down.
Jigger and Tanga begin gathering apples.
And Boak sniffs his way to the apple tree, climbs up the rock and discovers a honey cache. He then begins to fill the jars and himself.
Boak calls to Tanga, "Get your honey jars, there's plenty of honey for the pie party, too."
### the end. 23 September 1983.
The story opens with Boak in his bathroom muttering, "Now where is that tub plug." He looks everywhere, knocking things over and onto the floor.
(Song - Where are my lost things.)
He enters his kitchen scattering utensils about and then into his living room making a total mess of his house. He mutters, "And I did so want to take a bath today."
Wiggy and Fop knock. Boak opens the door and they ask him to join them on a honey search. He cheerfully agrees, "Let me get my jars."
They notice the mess and Fop quips, "When did you move to the dump?" Boak tells them of his lost tub plug. Wiggy offers to help find it. Boak says, "After the honey." They leave.
As they pass Babbet's, he calls to them. He tells Boak, "I need my trowel today, do you still have it?" Boak says it is in his house somewhere. Babbet asks if he could find it for him that morning. Fop quips, "Oh he might be able to find it by Christmas."
Babbet adds that is much too long to wait and how maybe they should all go back to Boak's right then and get it. They concur and leave.
At Boak's, Babbet is aghast at the mess. Wiggy agrees finding it may take till Christmas. Boak says he doesn't really know where to start, "It's such a big mess."
Babbet calms them, "Everything has a place. We'll just take it one thing at a time.
(Song - Putting things away.)
They begin picking up, asking Boak where each object belongs. He sits and tells them.
Finally everything is about put away, when Fop finds Babbet's trowel in a drawer.
Then Wiggy finds the tub plug, "Boak, now you can take your bath!" Fop laughs, "What year did you lose the plug?"
Boak thanks everyone for their help adding, "First the honey, then the bath."
They laugh and leave.
### the end. 23 September 1983.
The story opens with Jigger knocking on Babbet's door, no answer. He knocks again, hearing a faint response. Upon entering, he finds Babbet sick in bed. He asks to help. Rabbit says, "Just tired. I'm sure to feel better after some rest."
Jigger leaves in thought.
(Song - sick friends need extra help.)
Jigger goes to each of the character's home, telling each of Babbet's illness. At each home they speak of doing something to help.
Boak says he'll take Babbet some honey.
Wiggy says he'll take him some haycorns.
Nowl vows his birdseed stew will fix him up.
Haymore knows some pretty wild flowers will cheer up anyone.
Tanga says she'll do Babbet's housework.
And Fop adds, "I'll wash the dishes, if there are any."
In turn each arrive at Babbet's, leaving him their presents and well wishes. Asking if there is anything else they can do for him.
He responds "No, nothing else my friend, thank you," and looks out the window forlorn.
Each then leaves.
At the clubhouse, they in turn arrive and speak of their present to Babbet and how it didn't seem to help.
(Song - right kind of help.)
Fop comments, "He just turned to look out at his garden."
Nowl muses, "That's it. His garden. Babbet is worried about his garden."
Tanga agrees and they conclude to tend to his garden during his illness.
Back at Babbet's, they tell him they are going to do his gardening till he recovers.
Babbet thanks them, shaking his head, "It will be okay, until I'm feeling better."
"Nonsense," they insist, "the weeds will grow."
Babbet frets, "Yes, the weeds. Oh my."
They insist, "We can do it."
"No," he thanks them again, "You don't know how I do my gardening."
Fop adds, "You can teach us, can't you?"
Babbet shakes his head, "I could, but I'm too sick to go out."
Tanga looks out the window, "Why Babbet, you can watch us from this window and tell Fop and he can tell us what to do."
Fop adds, "Yes, I can tell you all what to do."
Babbet chuckles some, "Yes, maybe that will work. Okay!" He gives each one a garden chore and leans back to rest, smiling out the window.
The story ends with the characters in the garden and Fop in the window sing-songing, "Lift those bales, tote that barge."
### the end. 23 September 1983.
For city kids
INDEX
CLEAN IS SAFE
BOASTING
LYING FOR ATTENTION
SHARING THE WORK AND THE REWARDS
GOSSIP
ACCIDENTS AREN'T FUNNY
YOU GET WHAT YOU GIVE
TAKING TURNS
CLEAN IS SAFE
Messy joins the gang at the clubhouse. He is upset, his building has been condemned and everyone has to move. The gang figures maybe they can do something to help.
At Messy's building, trash is strewn about the steps, inside the doorway, all over the stairway and all up and down the hallways. The gang trips and stumbles many times before entering Messy's apartment.
Once inside, they find a similar scene. In the kitchen and about the apartment bugs crawl over dirty dishes.
A scream breaks their shock and they run out into a hallway to find a child pointing at some rats on a pile of trash. They throw things at the rats.
The gang asks Messy who is supposed to clean up the mess. Messy puts the entire blame on the lazy landlord.
The gang disagrees. "The landlord is suppose to fix broken things. Messy you and these other tenants are to put the trash out in the cans. With dirty dishes the bugs have food to eat, that's why they are all over your apartment."
Messy responds, "Not just mine, in everybody's."
The gang continues, "If the trash was put in the cans outside, there wouldn't be any food for the rats."
The gang figures to have a building meeting. And do so in the backyard. They ask everyone if they would like to stay in their building if it was cleaned up.
The tenants agreed.
So the gang ask if they can get the city to remove the condemnation order, will the tenants help them clean up the building and keep it that way.
The tenants mumble about the landlord fixing broken items. And the gang agrees to get the landlord to do his part too.
The building is a bustle of cleaning and painting and fixing activity. When all done it looks like a new place. Everyone is pleased and vows to keep it that way.
The city inspectors arrive behind the gang and are amazed and pleased and remove the condemnation order and bestow a best-improved property award.
### the end. October 1983.
BOASTING
A Newcomer and two of the gang are having a basketball free-throw contest. After many wild and missed shots by all of them, the Newcomer gets on a very, very lucky streak, making five in a row. They laugh and bellow over his 'great skill'.
Another of the gang arrives and asks of their fun. They rant and rave of the Newcomer's ability, stretching five in a row to breaking world records. More of the gang arrive and the retelling stretches the 'world record' free throws into 50. The Newcomer half tries to correct the story, but finally goes along with their fun.
At school during lunch hour the gang and the Newcomer are retelling the free-throw story among themselves. And the coach overhears them. The coach is impressed and wants the Newcomer to be on the team. The gang urges him on so he reluctantly agrees.
In the gym all eyes are on the Newcomer who makes a few shots, but misses most. The coach calms him down, owing the misses to nerves.
The Newcomer spends most of the evening practicing with little improvement. He tries to tell the gang of the exaggeration. They out talk him saying he'll do better when his nerves calm.
At school the next day, the gang cheers the Newcomer as he does a little better shooting from the line.
The coach brings the principle over to the Newcomer boasting of the team's soon new winning record; owing it all to the Newcomer star. The Newcomer begins to explain his poor performance, but the coach quiets him, "Your nerves will settle at the game tonight."
At the big game that night the score is tied with a minute to play and one of the starters fouls out. The coach calls the Newcomer over and sends him in; he tries to protest, to no avail.
With the home team one point behind, the Newcomer gets the ball and is fouled. As he stands on the line looking at the rim, he glances at the score and all around the cheering crowd. He swoons to the floor.
A time-out is called and the coach brings him around with smelling salts. The Newcomer wakes up and finally tells the coach of the truth. The coach is upset at first, but bolsters-up the Newcomer's confidence by telling him to just do your best. That he can stay on the team if he wants, that honesty is more important than world records.
The Newcomer says he'll play if the coach wants him to. He gets up to the line and makes the shot.
### the end. October 1983
LYING FOR ATTENTION
Liar meets a different gang member throughout the day and tells each of a spectacular event that he has just witnessed on his way there. His recounting of the event is totally captivating. The listeners are impressed and are all ears. The Liar has their undivided attention and he is booming with self-pride.
At sundown at the clubhouse the gang is retelling the news events of the day that they learned from the Liar. After a couple of these great stories they begin to ask where it happened and they learn that all the stories came from the Liar. They are amazed at first that so many tremendous things happened in their neighborhood all on the same day and that none of them had seen those events.
Then they begin to recount an event they each had seen that day. Soon they discover that the Liar's stories were just exaggerations of an event each of them had seen earlier. And that the Liar was present. They conclude how the Liar turned:
1. a fender bender at the corner into a five car pile up;
2. a speeding ticket into a robbery and high speed get away;
3) a vacant lot trash fire into a five-alarm fire;
4) a building demolition into a terrorist bombing.
The Liar arrives and the gang confronts him with the truth. He admits to exaggeration cause the real thing seemed so dull.
They hoot him away saying they'll not fall for any more of his wild stories. He leaves.
As the Liar walks down the street he sees a high voltage wire dangling above the sidewalk making sparks on the ground. He turns and runs back to the clubhouse. He tells the gang of the wire. And they hoot him away, "You can't fool us anymore with your stories."
He swears he is telling the truth. They won't listen, so he leaves.
He runs to the Police Department and tells them. They give him a ride to the broken wire. As they arrive a little girl on the tricycle is riding down the sidewalk toward the broken wire. The policemen catch her in time. The news reporter arrives. The Power Company fixes the wire. Then the Liar is heralded as saving the day.
The gang, hearing the police sirens, arrives in time to see the news reporter interview the Liar. The policemen tell them what happened, they can't believe it explaining the Liar's story telling.
The police in turn quiz the Liar. He explains how dull life seemed so he would just spice it up.
The police shake their heads telling the Liar if they had known how big a liar he had been to the gang, then they too might not have listened to his broken wire story and how the little girl could have been hurt instead of saved.
The gang agrees saying to him that's why they didn't believe the broken wire story.
The Liar nods and agrees to tell they truth instead of exaggerated stories.
The gang says, "Well we like your stories, but tell us afterwards what really happened."
### the end. October 1983
SHARING THE WORK AND THE REWARDS
The gang sets about a clean-up the neighborhood project.
The Lazy wants no part of it, "That's work and I aign't working without pay." Lazy tags along after the gang and stands and sits and doesn't help except to tell them very smart-aleckly what to do after they've begun.
As each lot is cleaned up and they are admiring their work the Lazy comments, "That was a tough one, we sure did a nice job of it, didn't we?" The gang groans, "Yea, we sure did."
Unbeknownst to the gang an old man is watching their clean-up jobs throughout the day. And he calls the news to come do a story on the gang's good deeds.
As the last lot is finished a news reporter arrives with cameras and microphones. The Lazy jumps in front of the camera and carries on how the clean-up was his idea and how he supervised his 'workers'.
The gang mumbles in the background.
Back at the clubhouse the gang watches the news report. Lazy gets almost full credit. They boo him, but are happy of their project and decide to clean the alleyways tomorrow.
As the gang is cleaning an alleyway the next day, the old man is again watching from his window. Lazy is again doing nothing but talking. When the alley is cleared and the gang resting, the old man appears beside them.
He explains how he had intended to hire a clean-up crew to do the work they had just done, but hadn't gotten around to it yet. He thanks them and hands each one $10, all except Lazy.
Lazy inquires of his money.
The old man explains how he had watched them work on the lots and how he had seen the news report where Lazy took most of the credit. He further explains that he had watched the work on the alley from his window and that he knew exactly how much work each had done. He then hands a paper sack to Lazy saying, "This is equal to the work you did."
Lazy beams big $$ eyes. He opens the bag, drops his mouth, "It's empty, nothing."
The old man smiles, "Not empty, full of hot air, just like you. You got your credit on the news yesterday. Do your really believe what you did was worth being on television for and getting paid?!"
The gang laughs, "Well Lazy, how much real work did you do?"
Lazy shakes his head, "Well I guess not that much real work."
The gang adds, "No real work equals no real money. Come on, we'll treat you to an ice cream anyway."
### the end. October 1983.
GOSSIP
Fat Albert's mother is trying to explain money matters to him, saying how she needs a raise. He asks what happens if they don't pay the bills. She says, "If we can't pay the rent, we'll have to move. We need more money." As she is saying that, the Gossip of the gang is outside the door about to knock when he overhears her.
Gossip shakes his head muttering, "Oh no Talbert's mother needs money, they have to move."
He leaves muttering to himself and meets another of the gang, who asks what's wrong.
The gossip tells him.
He too is upset and leaves.
Gossip then bumps into another of the gang and tells of Talbert's mother needing money and having to move.
The third member asks money for what, the second member speculates as to maybe a sickness. The third member shakes his head and leaves.
The third member then meets the forth member and tells of Talbert's sick mother, how she needs money.
The forth asks, "You mean money for an operation?"
The third guesses so.
The forth leaves and later meets the fifth member and asks if he has heard about Talbert's mother's operation and lack of money and how they'll have to move to pay for it.
The fifth leaves and meets the sixth and tells him. They decide to try to raise money for Talbert's mother's operation and to help with the bills.
All the gang meets secretly and plots to make money to give to Fat Albert. They go around collecting old things from the neighbors to sell on the corner.
When they have collected $500. They take it to Fat Albert and his mother.
She wants to know what's going on.
They each in-turn explain what they had heard from whom. When the story telling gets to the Gossip, he tells what he heard outside the door.
She laughs and explains what was actually said. Everyone is relieved, Gossip then figures the gang can keep the money since they collected it and that she won't need it.
She puts the money in her pocket telling them that there actually is a family at her church who is in the very situation that they collected money for and that's where the money will go. And how they have to explain to the people they collected from that the money is for another in-need family, not hers.
The gang so agrees.
### the end. October 1983.
ACCIDENTS AREN'T FUNNY
The gang decides to fix up the clubhouse and sets to it.
Practical Joker arrives and figures to have his fun. He bumps a painter and the brush hits the back of one's head. He slowly moves a board that is being sawed and it ends up cut crooked instead of straight. He bumps another and a hammer misses the nail and smashes a hole through the wall. He mixes up the paint cans and the wrong color ends up a two-tone mess. He removes a ladder and the roofer slips and ends up hanging onto the roof edge.
The Practical Joker laughs silently after each one of these and roars off leaving the gang with the clutter.
The gang is upset and vow to teach him a lesson and leave for home.
With the gang out of sight, Practical Joker slips into the clubhouse smiling to himself. Practical Joker puts the paint into different containers and replaces the paint with paint remover. He then exchanges the two-inch nails with one-inch nails. He also exchanges the saw with a toothless saw. And then cuts the bottom rungs of the ladder in half.
The next morning the gang is still wondering what sort of joke they can pull on Practical Joker for all his dirty tricks to them. They then set off to their work.
The roofer steps on the first rung and it breaks under his weight; he catches his balance and puts his other foot on the second rung. It too breaks and he and the ladder come tumbling down. He gets up and inspects the sawed rungs, mumbling, "That durn Joker."
A board is held in place as two nails are driven into it. When done the hammer stands and the board falls to the ground. He looks at the back of the board and sees that the nails were too short. He shakes his head.
The saw just keeps sliding on the edge of the board. Finally the sawer looks at the saw and realizes the joke.
With brush in hand the painter takes a big dip and goes over some of yesterday's work, which begins to get lighter and lighter, finally disappearing as he too shakes his head.
A meeting is called and the gang comes up with their joke. Green dye crystals mixed among Joker's green, bubble bath powder. Straws are drawn to pick the lucky trickster.
The gang waits until Practical Joker leaves his home and then the trickster knocks on his door and asks for Practical Joker. His mother says he just left.
The trickster asks to go to the bathroom and does so. He then adds the dye to Practical Joker's personal bubble bath container.
Back at the clubhouse the gang meets Practical Joker. They confront him of his jokes. He admits them laughingly. The gang laughs too and then dumps a bucket of wet mud on his head. He laughs with them saying, "I guess I deserve that." They laugh.
Practical Joker leaves to take his bath. The gang follows at a distance.
Ten minutes pass and a loud howl is heard from inside. The gang laughs and heads back to clean up Practical Joker's mess of the clubhouse.
### the end. October 1983.
YOU GET WHAT YOU GIVE
The gang is seated at a large table in a cafe. Each nicely place their order with the waitress except Hard Time, who badmouths his previous service and the food. The gang tries to quiet him, but he continues to make cutting remarks to the waitress.
She frowns at him, "Saying maybe he should go elsewhere."
He laughs, "Maybe you could get it right this one time."
She leaves and brings back everyone's order except for Hard Time.
He adds, "See how lousy this place is."
She frowns, "Your order just takes longer."
The gang tries to quiet him.
Later the gang is walking down the sidewalk and stop at a fresh fruit vendor. They are wondering what to get and Hard Time pipes up, "You don't want any of this stuff, it's going rotten and it's overpriced."
The vendor adds, "There's nothing wrong with my fruit."
Hard Time laughs, "Nothing wrong if you are a rat."
The vendor chases them off.
They gang is getting on Hard Time about his attitude as they cross an intersection. Halfway across Hard Time says to the traffic cop, "Hay copper, did you lose any pennies today?"
The cop looks at him, "What?"
Hard Time responds, "How'd you get such a funky job, flunk your tests." And laughs.
The cop yells, "Get out of here you punks!"
The gang looks scared and runs across the street and doesn't stop until safely in their clubhouse.
The gang admonishes Hard Time's behavior.
He responds, "You have to treat people that way or they will think you are a push-over and take advantage of you."
The gang disagrees.
The next day the gang goes into the same cafe and the waitress won't serve them.
Hard Time says, "See. Lousy service."
They approach the fruit vendor and before they get close to his stand, he hollers at them to beat it.
They gang goes to their club house and begin a discussion. "Hard Time you bad mouthed those people and now we can't go near them."
"I told you, you have to be tough with people."
The gang disagrees, "No, if you are nice, you'll be treated nice. If you are mean you will be treated mean."
Hard Time disagrees.
They make a bet. "We will go to some new places and you be nice and see what happens."
Hard Time finally agrees.
At a new cafe he is friendly to the waitress and she is nice back. At a different fruit vendor he is very complimentary of the fruit and the vendor gives him a free one.
As they stand at a busy intersection, they all smile at the traffic cop and wave to him.
He smiles back and stops traffic. They say, "Thanks Officer."
He retorts, "You boys have a nice day."
The gang goes back to the clubhouse and discusses the turn of events on the sidewalk. Hard Time is not totally convinced to be nice.
At the first cafe, he apologizes to the waitress. She accepts and gives them good service. At the vendor he apologizes and the vendor accepts and gives him a free fruit. The first traffic cop walks by and happens to over hear the apology and pats Hard Time on the back for turning over a new leaf.
Hard Time admits that maybe being nice is a better way to be.
The gang smiles.
### the end. October 1983.
TAKING TURNS
Three of the gang are shooting baskets.
The Hog joins them and shoots twice as often during his turn. The Hog finally keeps the ball continually shooting. "And let me show you this shot."
The three shake their heads leave.
The Hog finally turns around and is surprised to find them gone.
The Hog wanders on and finds two of the gang shooting marbles. He asks to join them and when it's his turn he begins, "Wait a minute let me try again." He keeps shooting and shooting.
They shake their heads and leave.
The Hog finally looks up and is surprised to see them walk away. "I guess I was just too good for them."
The Hog goes into the pool hall and finds two more of the gang on a table. He asks to join them. And after his shot, he insists on showing them some trick shots. He keeps shooting, pushing them aside, "And watch this one, and this one."
They too leave.
When he has cleaned off the table, he looks around and is again surprised to find them gone. He scratches his head, "Guess they couldn't stand the competition."
The gang meets at the clubhouse and begins to play cards, commenting on Hog's behavior.
Hog walks in and wants to play, but they say no. He leaves upset and angry.
At the basketball court he sees some kids playing ball and asks if he can play too, cause his friends won't let him play cards.
They say, "Well they must not be much of friends, sure you can play."
When Hog gets the ball he begins to keep shooting, "And let me show you this shot, and this fancy one, and this..."
One of the kids grabs the ball from him saying, "This is my ball and this is our game and you are hogging the ball. No wonder your friends won't play with you. Beat it you hog."
The Hog stands wide-eyed, "I'm not a hog."
"Yes you are. We take turns, but you just keep shooting and shooting. That's being a hog."
Hog scratches his head, "Well I guess that means I am a hog."
"Yea, that's what it means. Go get your own ball, we take turns here. Go play by yourself."
Hog says, "I don't want to play alone."
"Beat it or start taking turns."
Hog agrees. The game continues with Hog taking only one shot at a time.
The gang arrives and watches disbelievingly as Hog is taking turns. Hog notices them and joins them, "Sorry guys, I've been a hog and didn't realize it."
"Yea, you sure were."
"You guys want to play some hoops?"
The gang joins the game and all take their turn.
### the end. October 1983.
RETURN TO INDEX index
Snow White, remember her? Of course you do, the beauty that the Wicked Queen's mirror fingered. Left in the deep wood to die by the Queen's hunter, she stumbled lost and frightened. Befriended by the forest creatures they guided her to the tiny hobbit of the seven dwarfs. What follows a pixy whispered to me one hazy afternoon as I napped beneath a vehicle in repair.
Snow White set quickly to work cleaning, washing and cooked a hot meal to welcome the bed residents. A fine thing to come home to after the toil of mountain mining. Pleased by the order, the fragrance, the warm vitals and the spectacular features of Snow, the dwarfs slipped into an unusual talkative state.
The dwarfs jubilant, pinching and poking each other, pointed to Snow. A series of snorts, gnawfs, giggles and looks of awe befell them as they gathered about her.
Snow blushed and curtsied to each asking their name. Nodding a, "Nice to meet you," to each in turn till the circle complete. Slow turning twice, saying each name, she suddenly sat down, dizzy. Holding her head, "Oh wow. What a long day this has been."
Taking the mug of water from Doc, sipping some, her color returned and her spirits perked. "Thank you Doc", exchanging smiles, "By the way are you a doctor?"
Teeth gleaming from a slow grin, "No mame. Just my handle."
"Handle?" frowning a puzzled look, Snow smiled to him, "What do you mean? Handle? Is your name Doc Handle?"
Snickering slipped from the dwarfs about the table.
Doc continued, "No no. Doc is my name. My only name, my handle. It's what everyone calls me."
"Oh," beaming understanding, "A nick name. I like it." Looking at each, saying their names and nodding at each, "Sleepy, Bashful, Sneezy, Grumpy, Dopey, Doc, Happy. All nicknames, handles?"
Nodding and murmuring yeses.
"How interesting. How very intriguing. What a fine collection of handles." Smiling, slow looking at the tiny men's faces beaming pride and good feelings, saying each name again, slow looking at each face, "Say Doc. How is it you come by that handle? The...ah ah...the men here give you that?" Looking quick at their faces, "Did you each name each other?"
In silent unison they shook negatives.
Her eyes widening, "Then someone, somewhere else named you?"
A few nodded yeses.
"Or did you name your selves?" with inquiry glances about the circle.
More negatives, nodding noes, and soft murmurs, "Brother, neighbors, folks."
"Well sirs, this is interesting. Yes indeed. Clever nick names and now mysterious origins. Okay this will be fun. Sharing tales of your pasts. How you come by your names. How you come to this place. Okay who will be first?" looking invitingly at each, holding a smile at Bashful.
He coughs, "Na, not me. You wouldn't. Na you, na. na."
"Whoa there boy," Grumpy has quicked to his feet, "wait there a sec'. I don't see where we need be bringing-up those old bad memories. Aign't no bodies business 'cept ourn. I say we all call it a night and get some..." looking at the beds, then back to Snow, "some sleep."
"Ah now Grump. I can about guess how you come by your monocle," with cheery, flirty voice and blinky eyes, she reached delicately, grasping the long tail of his chin hair. She twirled it around her fingers, winding and slow pulling against his mild protest grumbles.
"Ah now Grump, what harm. To share part of your past. You all share this house, the chores, the work in the mines." Smiling into his calming eyes, turning to the men circled about her on the rug, "Haven't you wondered of your names?"
Pause mesmerizing exchanges, saying their nickname till each in-turn nodded affirmative. Coming full circle to return her gaze to Grumpy, his beard still held in her fingers, "And you, dear Grump," her teeth parting, tongue slow sliding over her lower lip, "are you not sometimes curious of how, say," turning a quick gaze about the men, her look resting on the reddened face of Bashful, "how he come about his nickname? And Doc next to him, is he a magician, a healer, a sorcerer or a doctor for you all?"
All heads shaking noes. Doc his self making a slight muffled embarrassed cough.
Turning her gaze upon Doc, her inquiry continued, "Then if not a doctor, how come you to hold such a name?"
Doc cleared his throat, "Well miss White, I."
"Please dear sir, relax the formality. Be pleased to call me Snow, as all my dears do."
Re-clearing his throat, "Miss Snow as I was about to..."
Sounding soft, "Dear Doc, just Snow will please me."
"Snow it is miss," looking about his companions, seeing their approvals, resting his eyes upon the floor, looking within the cracks of the oak to find his hidden spring, the season he changed from boy to adolescence, he continued, "The wild roses were plentiful that spring. I'd leave early with the sun, finding the mountain foot paths dotted with the colors mother liked for her table. A half dozen each day, it was my chore during their blossomin'."
A long pause as his eyes narrowed, then opened wide, his hardened aged wrinkles smoothing away with the memory of seeing her that afternoon, "She was kneelin' toward me, her head moved quick to my sound as I edged around the ledge. Her presence there, the sheer beauty of it, the colors, the ledge, I was smitten, love lust want, feeling hunger desires heard of only.
Then suddenly a half mile above the valley I was taken, nearly swooned to my demise. The thorns of the red plant I grabbed awoke me. That began our spring. Meetin' on the ledge week upon week, earlier each day, fallin' deeper in love," he slipped into another silence.
Snow broke the circle's gaze of their companion, "Well why didn't you marry her?"
Breaking him, shaking his head, dispelling his smile, "Her father. A giant of a man, for a dwarf, put the fear in me. I was but a boy, it was easy to do."
Her wondering look, she slipped-in the obvious, "What pray tell did the brute do to you?"
Meeting her query for a brief moment he looked slyly to the past, "Death, the fear of death, he put into me. As the elm witch cast rickets into the school marm for flunking her familiar cousin the year before, he cast fear into me."
"How, pray do say? How one so young, could be that done to?" she too now drawn into Doc's tale.
Continuing, guided by her tones, "Long these years have I remembered that. Long the hours I've speculated, deep within the mine it finally come to me, with awareness of love so to come my awareness of other emotions, feelin's. Fear I'd had before, but death was new to me. Somethin' that happened to others."
Anxiety ridden, she burst through the room's tension, "What did he do to you?"
Looking away again, "He didn't really do anythin' to me, not actually to me. It was what he did to a bale of hay. The way he did it. The look on his face, those eyes, deep within his eyes I could see the bale of hay was me. The pitchfork tore it into large pieces, strewn about the barn in seconds."
His voice warning, 'Be you near my girl one more moment this be your tomorrow.'
I walked slowly away, my eyes upon him every second, wouldn't turn my back. There weren't any more flowers thereafter. I went to the river instead. Sittin', starin' into the depths, rememberin', savorin' at first each morsel we shared. The moments faded, lost to the bottom, imbedded in the depths, mud imprints our love time."
His gaze finishing between the slivers of the floor. Finally he looked up at Snow, continuing in a flat tone, "At the supper table mom would ask what I did, where I went. And I'd say, 'Been at the river mom, sittin' on the dock.'
Each day was the same, 'Where'd you go, what'd you do? The dock, mom. At the dock.' After a few weeks, all I'd say was 'dock'. Or mom would look at me and say, 'Doc?' I'd nod yes. My friends would stop by the house asking for me to help pick berries or apples or peaches as the seasons came. Mom would say one word, 'Doc'. They started calling me 'Doc'. They'd find me danglin' my feet starin', watchin' the clouds or the birds. Pretty soon they'd be sittin' doing what I was. After a couple of weeks the dock was full. The chores left for other days.
Then up and come the priest and most of the village stormin' rage at us lazy no accounts. Ventin' anger at me. Puttin' the blame on 'Doc'.
They torched the timbers with me at the end still danglin' me feet. The flames put my hair to fire; fallin' in the water put it out. When I walked onto shore they just stood there pointin' west. All of them pointin' for me to go west. Weeks later I found this place."
Looking back at Grumpy, his beard still in her fingers a twinge of a grin on his face, "See Grump. How interesting Doc's tale is."
Grumpy quick frowned back his contempt, shaking a no, tearing loose a few beard hairs, "Hay! Miss Snow let go!"
"No no no," with a mischievous note she smiled. Then to Doc, "Thank you sire for such a fine tale."
Smiling to her, glancing about his fellows, "Actually, I rather liked rememberin'. Kinda feel like going back to find her."
Snow took-up the happy note and addressed Happy, whose face beamed, "Well Happy, easy for me to see how you got your nice name. That child's smile warms me at just the look. But what could have taken you from your home. Was it your destiny to come to these deep woods to cheer these miner men?"
A fool's grin holding steady at Snow, his tired worn eyes speared their torment. With the voice of a blind man amidst an antelope stampede he told of his misfortune, "A carefree boy, running across the fields, jumping creeks and hiding in the trees from the toil of digging his father's well. That was me." Looking about the circle, meeting appreciating memory smiles and interested ears he continued, "Until one thunderous afternoon, lightning tore the skies splitting crevices in the land about my perch. A glorious sight. One of summer's best storms found me tree top high. The wind came upon me. My foot slipped; my fingers slide off the wet branches as I fell to the earth.
I landed on my face. I didn't remember but the pain. My jaw was broken. Mom wrapped it the best she could. It healed, the weeks passed and this," framing his face with both hands, slow looking about the room, "is how the jaw mended. A happy face. A permanent happy face."
Snow's sorrow soon changed to an upbeat comment, "Just seeing you makes me happy, yet you seem so, so unhappy."
"Miss Snow, lovely lady princess that you are, no one is always happy. Or wants to be. Remember sorrow, lost loves, illnesses, the blues, the doldrums. And me with the face that broke the stare of St. Forrester's pallbearers, there always happy, happy happy, ever happy." His voice in rising anger, "No matter what the turn of fate, ever happy."
She reached forward to him, her mouth slowly parting.
"Yes Miss Snow miss, Happy the name they gave me. But happy was not I. Nor were they with me."
"Achookickedyout?" Sneezy slipped.
"Might as well have. Meeting silent stares; bodies turned away at my approach. Sort of drove me away. One day I'd had enough. Threw my clothes in a bag and walked. Funny how Sneezy was passing through the village then. We met at the edge of town and wandered for months. Doing odd jobs at passing farms and dishes in village inns till we lucked-out here."
They both shared a grin and nodded a thanks to the rest about the circle.
Snow unconsciously brought her eyes from the floor to focus on Sneezy. His peaceful presence from a memory of gratitude set her at ease. She quick cleared her throat and sat upon coaxing Sneezy to tell next. "So you two were friends there?"
He sneezed, shaking his head, "Achono".
"A coincidence, a fateful hand both leaving town the same day?" she asked, looking slow to each.
He sneezed again, another, "Achono".
Surprised, Snow jerked up, pulling Grumpy's beard hair looser. He yelped, "Eyow!" She pulled his face close, twinkled, "Oh Grump. You dear, so sorry. You hear, he sneezed my fright."
She continued, "Sneezy where were you from?"
He sneezed again, "Achofaraway."
Grumpy growled, "Leave the boy alone. Can't you see how you are upsetting him? Dragging-up the past is no good I tell you. Leave us be. Go back to your castle or your moat, whichever you be."
Snow slow pushed away from him. With his beard still about her right hand she gently put her left on his knee and patted, "Now who's getting upset. Calm calm yourself. Your turn to tell soon here will be." Leaving her hand upon his knee, she looked back to Sneezy, "Do you feel better?"
His face flushed a grin.
"Would you rather wait?" her soft voice filled his ears.
His grin wide, "Yes."
"Okay Sneezy we can do it your way. Would you pick someone next to be?" her eyes twinkling gold.
He sneezed twice, "Achonotme, achooneverme."
Sleepy stood up, "I'll be next Snow. I'm ready to go. I like this show."
She turned her head left, her eyes taking him from toe to cowlick, "Okay Sleepy. Tell us of your nickname. It's origin, it's game." Her lips parted, her eyes wide staring at him, "Well Sleepy? Go ahead it's your turn."
He stood, eyes glazed over, immobile.
"Well Sleepy. What's the matter?" half standing up. Grumpy yipped, "Eyow! Sit down, you clown. Can't you see? He is asleep." Snow snapped back to her chair. Her free hand covering a delicate snicker. Leaning forward, "Why dear Grump, I believe you are right. Asleep he is." Breaking then into a full laugh, she startled him awake.
Sleepy shook his head, slap-patted his cheeks, "I'm awake. I'm awake, really."
The dwarfs slapped their knees and a long chorus of laughter filled the room.
Snow looked to Grumpy, whose face still held that sour disgruntled expression it had since they met at the door. The laughter subsiding, Snow again addressed the issue, "Can you tell us how you come to this place. I think I see your name."
Patting one cheek, Sleepy murmured, "I'm awake sort of, I am awake really I am."
"Yes Sleepy you are awake, keep talking. Where were you before here?" gesturing her wonder.
"I am awake, I am. I think I am awake, but it could be a dream. I had a dream. A long dream. A dream of walking. A long walk. A very long walk. I was so hungry too and thirsty and tired. So tired from climbing over the boulders. Such big rocks," his body gesturing, climbing, pulling himself over large rocks, "and then a full day of crawling under tree limbs. Pine needle tree limbs. Ohwe they hurt my hands," looking up from the floor, down on all fours, crawling, ducking memories, staring at the pain still lingering in his palms.
Looking to Snow, their eyes joined, her free hand turned palm up, moved toward him. She whimpered slightly and looked at her throbbing flesh, "Ohwe."
Sleepy fell flat to the floor, motioning, "Swimming across a lake. Such a wide lake, the shore trees were so far. Swimming swimming swimming. Cold so cold," shivering, his voice trembling.
Snow too trembled, huddling closer to Grumpy for warmth. He sat motionless.
"The shore was so far, I was so tired, so tired." Sleepy curled-up to sleep and lay quiet.
Bashful got up, walked to the beds, took Sleepy's blanket and covered him. He looked at Snow, "I found him on the shore under the willow tree I fish at. He falls asleep all the time, anywhere, anytime. Eating, walking, working; doesn't matter. You look over at him and his eyes are glazed. Standing or sitting, he's asleep."
Doc nodded, "That's the name we call him. He couldn't remember his name, his past. All he remembers is that long dream."
Snow coldly added, "The journey that brought him here."
Knelling, Bashful began speaking, as if to Sleepy, "Absent-mind, that's what Gramps called it. I don't know, didn't then either. Never paid much mind to it. Nobody home 'round the supper table did either. Absent-mind, guess that's what I was.
Been a handful of years back. Summertime. A hot summer. The nights as hot as the days. I'd take my bath late afternoon. Soak for an hour, fall asleep sometimes, nearly drown, he he he. Mom would yell up, 'Don't you drown in my tub. You hurry, come down, it's supper.'
That'd brake my dream sleep. Jump right-out and towel dry runnin' to the table. Sometimes I'd wrap the towel about me and eat that way. Nobody at the family table cared. They's busy fillin' their empty bellies. Sometimes I'd forget the towel. It was just so plain hot.
Nobody ever over to eat, just the kin. Till one Sunday Ma and Pa got to jawin' to the preacher and his wife after church. I got bored and went home, the long way through the silver trees and sat by the brook most of the day.
Went on home. Takin' my late bath like always. And like most times, ran right from the tub to the table. Appears I forgot the towel too.
Nobody paid no mind, like always. They all busy fillin' their bellies. Ma and Pa jawin' with the preacher and his wife. After coffee and cake they up to leave and so's we walk 'em to the door."
Bashful looked-up at the circle of dwarf-men staring down at him and Sleepy. He looked down at Sleepy and continued, "I don't knows why she had to say. They's could a gone on home, and never said a word, nobody been the wiser. Least ways I wouldn't have. But no. She's a woman. Pa says they born to say dumb stuff least we'd all walk around in silence most the day. Yea she's a woman alright. Worst. Married to the preacher."
He paused, faced Snow and spoke deep, trembling, "She points her crooked finger at my body parts and says to her husband, 'He's certainly not bashful.' And the preacher answers her, 'Sure, he's got no reason to be bashful.' I looked down at my bare body, my privates all shriveled-up.
My ma looks at me, puts her hand to her forehead, 'Oh no not again.' She turned apologetic to the preacher tapping a finger to her head, 'Please pay him no mind. He fell out of a tree when he was three.'
The preacher's woman put me to shame, 'And he looks and acts it still,' chuckling and elbowing her husband.
I ran mortified to the bathroom for my clothes."
Snow cut in, "Why Bashful that's not so bad."
He looked to the circle, "The preacher's woman told the story at the Monday night quilting and by the week's end the whole valley knew.
Everywhere I went, it was Bashful this and Bashful that with hands held in front of the their crotches. By the turning of the leaf colors I had had enough insulting jibs and jokes and finger pointing by pubescent toeknee girls. I packed a bag and found this haven months later. To them I'm gone forever or probably dead; for me they are a hazy memory I have tried to forget."
Turning to smile at Snow, "And now that I relive it in the telling. It reminds me of my good fortune to have found my friends here."
Snow clapped her entwined hand, slapping Grumpy in the face, "Ops sorry dear. That was so heart rendering. What a happy ending to the terrible ordeal he had been through. Like me prosecuted by the ugly Queen and being rescued by you all."
Bashful had continued speaking through Snow's revelation to Grumpy. Sleepy rolled over. "I don't know. I just don't know what happened. Somethin' clicked. She was right I wasn't bashful. So what was the big deal, clothes, no clothes. I stopped wearing 'em. None of the other animals had clothes. What was the big deal anyway."
Snow has heard some of this and quieted, leaning toward him, held in place by Grumpy's beard.
Sitting crossed legged on the floor, his eyes pinned into his memories, "My folks didn't say much. It was warm in the house, what did it matter I never went anywhere anyhow. 'Cept church. That's where it happened. That's why I'm here."
Sitting quiet for a moment, stretching his legs straight. "The summer was warm. I spent my time in the backyard. Got to where I never wore clothes. Never gave it no thought. One Sunday I over slept. The bells woke me. I ran to the church. Got there at communion so I hurried to get my wafer and wine. There was a long line. I waited behind her. She was so pretty so pretty. I waited and waited and looked at her and smelt her and waited and waited. The people began giggling behind me then laughter and louder laughter. Even the preacher laughed.
I looked all around, couldn't see the joke.
The preacher raised his hands for silence. When all were quiet he pointed at me and said, 'No sir. This one's not bashful.' Everyone laughed and laughed.
I walked away and never went back. I miss my folks some. Weren't their fault." Shaking his head, "I just don't know."
Snow sat perplexed, her own laugh held by his innocent sincerity. She looked at Grumpy wondering.
He nodded, "We put work clothes on him. He never takes them off."
Bashful returned to his chair, "Bashful, I am. That's my name now. I wear cloths."
Snow coughed, "Ah well, ah, clothes are good. They keep us warm and they're very pretty." Looking at the dwarfs tattered work shirts, "Well mine are." She stood to hold her skirt open, but pulled Grumpy's beard.
"Eyow! Sit down," pulling her back to her seat with his hands on her wrists.
Snow snapped down, "Ohw Grump. What are you doing?"
A low grumble, "My beard, remember. It's in your hands."
"Sorry dear," her apologetic eyes beaming close to his face, softening his pain.
"Achowill achoiwill achoiwilltell. I'll tell next," standing, Sneezy wipes his arm sleeve across his nose.
"Alright that would be fine. You sneeze so much is that how, why?"
"Not exactly Miss Snow. I never did 'cept when dad used too much pepper on the pancakes. Guess that's when I began experimenting with sound sneezes. In the middle of a sneeze I said a word. And that sounded neat. I sneezed a second time with a different word and that sounded neat too.
So I took the pepper can, went out by the pond and sneezed words all day. All kinds of words, a whole new sound. Got really into it," smiling a private twinkle, he pulled back from his distance to view Snow scratching her chin curiously.
Defiant justification slipped within his words, "I was just a kid. What else was there? It was new. After a few months I could sneeze at will, sounding most words." At this he sneezed, "Achosnowbitch."
She sat aback, "What did you say? I mean sneeze?"
Bashful flushed, hiding his eyes from the giggles around the circle.
Snow slammed her left foot to the floor and jumped up tearing loose more of Grumpy's beard, he howled, silencing their laughter. She sat back down, "Alright! Alright! Just what are you men laughing at?" starring, peering at each.
Hearing Grumpy's low moan, she leaned close to his ear, kindly soothing, "I'm so sorry dear Grump. They made me." Her free hand resting again on his knee patting, petting higher and higher along his leg. His expression returned to its usual scowl, though his eyes held a new hint.
Returning to Sneezy, Snow murmured, "I think that is very interesting, very inventive. Please to go on."
Sneezy began a sneeze, "Achothanx. I got real good. Sneeze when I wanted. Said what I wanted. Got to be a real habit. My way of talking. Trouble was a traveling doctor heard me. Talked to my folks, said I had a most unusual illness, a rarity.
He paid them two years wages to take me around to the city doctors, as his discovery. A medical oddity. Said it would make him famous. And promised to return me cured. They all agreed. The next day I was off on my first real adventure. All those cities, tiny villages, so many places, so many faces I sneezed for. Lords, ladies, doctors, teachers, priests, inn keepers, tavern turners, we paid for naught."
His face smooth, his stature straight, tall and confident. The stoop from the months of mine tunnels gone with the telling. He looked at the peculiarity about him, his slouched companions. He sneezed, "Achodamnhim." Slowly he slumped back into the miner's slouch.
Snow's enthusiasm peppered his continuance, "Well what happened. Sounds great. Castles, kings and queens, the life of royalty. All that traveling. How are you here?"
Dejectedly, "He died a few miles back. I got hungry. Been here ever since." He sneezed, "Achodamnhim" and sat down.
Snow looked at the agreeing faces, turned to Grumpy for clarification, tugging his beard, "Well?"
Growling back, "We buried 'im. Sneezy folks are on the other side of the mountains. He could never find them, never could cross alone. So he stayed. A place here for him."
Snow smiled, "That was very kind, very nice of you Grump." Pulling his beard to her face, batting her eyes and pursing her lips so very near his, she murmured, "Now it's your turn dear Grump to tell."
Enduring the chin hair pain Grumpy sat back, "The past is past. Go on with ya. You had your fun for the night. Tomorrow's a work day men," starting to get up. Snow yanked his beard hard.
"Eyow!" he sat down.
"It's alright Grump dear. I can guess how you got your name. Least we not be rude. Dopey is yet to tell, to have his turn to say." Snow put her free hand high on Grumpy's thigh and patted him gently, "Let's wait a while to, a, ah, sleep. It is Dopey's turn. We want to be totally fair. Now don't we?"
Grumpy's eyes wide, he swallowed, "Ya. Fair. Sleep later."
Smiling a half grin, she faced Dopey.
Dopey's legs were crossed, so when he made to stand he tumbled forward to the floor. Lying on his right side he looked deep into her eyes, speaking so very slowly, "This. This always happens to me. Not that I wanted this. Not that I, I wouldn't do anything. Not that I, I didn't want to. I did. I, I tried everything I saw to do. It was I, I couldn't. Couldn't do any of it. All failures. Each attempt a failure. A disaster. A tapestry of mistakes, broken mirrors, windows, cups, plates, broom handles. Hammer teeth chipped. Saws split in half, candles on fire. Squirrels ate the chicken feed. The cows got stuck in the mud. Stuff would fall off shelves. Cookies burnt in the oven. The wash fell off the line or it would suddenly rain.
After a while my folks said just sit on the porch and watch. Watch and tell us at supper. That was okay, I could do that. Day after day, weeks went by me swingin', wavin' to the neighborhood. Soon the other kids started to sit and swing too. Got to be a game, wavin', singin', whittlin' and watchin' everybody. Trouble was, when their folks'd come home, no chores be done.
I caught the blame. Everyone knew I just sat on the porch, had been for months. They had a neighborhood meeting. They spoke with my folks to get me off the porch, to do chores. My folks said it weren't nobody's business 'cept ourn if I did chores or sat on the porch. My folks didn't want to say I was just a clumsy dope.
There was a big fight.
Bad things happened at night. The cows got loose, a small barn on fire, then the goat crap on the steps my dad slipped on.
Weren't my folks' fault I was clumsy. Weren't mine either. But the bad things happened and kept happening so I figured to leave before the town destroyed all my folks' stuff, or worse.
I walked, walked and walked. Rivers, towns, mountains. Then met Grumpy here. He needed help in the mines. I needed food. And surprise me, I could do the work. Didn't matter if I knocked the rock clumps around. So here I stayed."
Getting up, Dopey turned to sit and missed the edge of the chair, tumbling it and he to the floor. Another round of laughter pealed about the room. Even Snow's eyes twinkled humor.
Turning to Grumpy, she purred, "Dear, dear Grump. It's your turn," sliding her free hand over his leg, patting his knee.
His scowl steady, "The past is my business. I say no more." And he pursed his lips closed, squirming at her touch.
Half frowning, "Dear Grump," giving his beard a slight tug, "I do believe you won't tell. Well that is your right, though not very fair. Everyone else has said."
He leaned forward, "You have not said. Miss Snow!"
Running her free hand around to his other thigh, she murmured, "It's your turn, you live here, not I." Sitting erect, putting her free hand to her chin perplexed. "Let's see what we do know of you. Shall we...men?" looking coaxed to each. Getting their silent nods of agreement.
"Most obvious of the group, you sire are a grumpy little person. Though not sure how or why, maybe because you are a little person." Pausing to check for his reaction, finding only his scowl. "Needless, you are actually a grump. So Grumpy come to be your name." Looking back to the circle seeing all in agreement, "Now how, dear Grump, come you here to be. Let's see what we have." Looking about the circle at their interested faces, "You each traveled here, as I, and found whom? Who was here before Grumpy? Anyone?"
Each dwarf looked at the other, shaking negatives and murmurs of, "Not I, nor me."
"So dear Grump, you were here first," seeing no response, "Were you born here?" Looking at the log walls, the mortar about the stone fire place, she continued, "No this is fairly new. And nice, my guess is you made this cabin for your self."
His scowl seemed to be gradually melting. She leaned nearer, her free hand lightly upon his cheek, "You made this cabin for, ah, ah, your bride?"
His eyes widened briefly, then his head slowly lowered.
The flesh of their faces nearly touching. She queried, "She died. Didn't she?"
Wildly jerking-up to his feet, pulling free from her grasp, losing the rest of his chin hair, Grumpy growled, "You got no right. The past is past. Go on to bed men. Tomorrow is a work day."
Snow holding most of his beard in her fingers, "Alright dear Grump, the past yours be. You can keep your secrets. But do tell me one thing dear Grump."
Stern, he stopped, still within the circle, he slow turned to face her, "Not of the past."
Nodding okay, "Not of the past, yes. What is it you dwarfs mine down in those tunnels of yours?"
"Alright Snow. This night was yourn, tomorrow be ourn," a large grin filled his face. "Diamonds."
The next morning the Wicked Queen's apple put Snow to sleep.
That afternoon a Prince with a troupe of soldiers come and took Snow White far away.
The pixy also told me of a rumor that the troupe of soldiers come back that night and took all the dwarfs diamonds.
### the end. Summer 1991.
RETURN TO INDEX index
To Louise,
Looking at the crack in the back door
for darkness or daylight
the cold morning air reminded me
I hadn't made your birthday present yet
thus inspired
this story fell from the folds of my imagination
I hope you find it an acceptable offering
From glenn
31 January 1994, 2:13 p.m. Monday, on this date, one hundred years ago a stage coach stopped in front of the Lorime Saloon for a two hour rest and change of horses.
Once the street dust settled, the passengers carefully stepped to the solid ground. The quiet was broken by the constant chatter of the fourth passenger, a barker of imported tobacco and accessories. A loud, booming braggart whose sound box stopped only to drink. The group of passengers followed him as he began comparing the store fronts and sidewalks of this stay-over with the many places his eyes had endured from the hard benches of the coaches that had taken him about the west.
Their bladders emptied, the passengers went back around to the front double doors of the saloon. The hinges creaked and the salesman moaned holding his ears while offering suggestions of oil or bear grease to quiet them.
About the large room sat vacant, armless chairs with dull solitary gas lamps swinging above dark, round heavy tables. A shiny foot rail at the bar awaited their arrival, while a brightly vested bartender poured beer in smiling silence. Mirror reflections cut through the lined bottles aside the cash register revealing two bearded men opposite a chessboard.
The barker gulped his beer slowly then turned toward the chessboard. His memories began rambling of his travels, playing the best minds of Europe. Heads of state, kings and their sons, gothic priests and nobleman alike, he bested each.
The passengers stared into their drinks and smiled when his reflection moved to the chess game in the far corner.
His arm about the waist of his traveling companion, they stood looking down at the board. His story continued, relating a similar game situation he had found himself in against the Duke of Shire in England. How it appeared his queen would be trapped. But by bringing his king's knight over to defend, the game had been turned. For on the knight's second jump he had forked his opponent's rook and white bishop, which turned the tide, leaving him the victor.
The two oldsters frowned at one another then looked up at the loudmouth. One of them took out his corncob pipe and spoke, challenging the braggart to a game.
The salesman stepped back, "I'd love to, old man. But there just aign't enough time to play a real game."
Looking slow to the bar at the ticking, mantle clock, came the crackled reply, "Be near-on two hours afore the coach pulls out. Sit a spell. Let's see if you think as good as you talk."
"To be honest old timer, I'm played out. Got bored with whiling the time away. Was nothing in it for me. So now I only play the game for money. And you don't look to have a penny to your name, no disrespect meant, old timer," the salesman's teeth grinned.
The old man nodded to his friend, they smiled. He continued, "Make you a real wager, mean more 'n money."
Curious, he cocked his head toward the gray beard holding a king in his palm, "What could you have that could equal anything that I have?" Holding open his jacket coat, "Made in France, this is silk from China," running his hand over the lining.
"You say the clothes make the man? Them duds make you bettern me?" the old man gingerly brushed the dust from his sleeve.
"Exactly right. You can tell the cut of a man by the cloth on his back," the barker pulled his companion close and smiled and laughed and gave her a kiss upon the cheek.
She smiled at the old man and adjusted the strand of cultured pearls about her bare chest.
"Well sir, You right 'bout one thing. Cloths be 'mportant. Be mighty cold walking around town without 'em", the two old men laughed and slapped dust from their knees.
The group of passengers was now gathered about the table. They laughed and joked of the old man going about the streets in his birthday suit.
The old man continued, "My suit be 'mportant to me as yourn be to you. Wager my suit agin yourn."
The salesman frowned, "But I don't want your old cloths. There's nothing in this wager for me."
The old man's friend spoke up, "Okay then. Loser goes about town in his birthday suit."
"You mean naked," the barker asked.
His girl friend began to smile, leaned close and whispered in the barker's ear.
The oldster grinned, "That's bare butt naked, yep."
The rest of the passengers began laughing and poking the salesman, "Go on, go on." The group stared at the barker.
He looked at the clock, "There isn't enough time to finish a real game. I won't be stuck here just to play a game of chess with an old man in rags."
The oldster nodded, "You may be right. The stage could pull out afore we finish. Wouldn't be fair to hold you here a week till the next coach. If'n we aign't done, we'll put the game aside till you make yourn way back round."
The group nodded, "That'd be fair."
Again his girl friend whispered something in his ear.
The salesman grinned wide and nibbled her ear. He then motioned to the chair, "I accept."
Soon the game began.
One and a half-hour passed in silence. Then the coachman called through the double doors, "Time to go!"
The bartender carefully picked up the game and locked the board behind the glass cabinet aside the reflecting mirror.
The salesman left the game a bishop down and under threat of two pawns attacking his king's wall. As he boarded the stage, he began an explanation of giving the oldster false hope. That in three moves he would begin the eventual attack affording victory.
TWO
YEARS LATER
The salesman returned to Lorime. And again he left the coach bragging and comparing towns. Upon seeing a chess game in the corner his bantering recollections of a winning chess tour of Europe began sounding.
Standing beside the chessboard, the salesman suddenly recognized his old adversary.
The oldster looked up, "I believe it be your move."
The salesman feigned not remembering, "I barely recall being here. Yes I seem to remember a game, but I think I had won with a bishop up."
The oldster coughed, "Think again."
"Or was about to win when the coach had to go," he looked away.
The oldster coughed again, "You member more than that. It be only a few months ago."
The barker rambled on, "Months indeed! What is time to you? Each day the same, same faces, same places, same game in this corner. But not so I. I've been in a hundred towns, talked to thousands. Slept in hundreds of beds and played dozens upon dozens games. Card, dice and chess games. Won and lost.
How could I possibly remember one brief game at a place I've been to only once?
You see each day as the day before. All your days are alike. Be it one week or one month or a year or a decade, they are but one similar memory. For you the time, the game we played, happened like yesterday.
But to me, a traveling salesman, each day is so different that a week to me is like a month to a town store salesman. What I accomplish in a month takes a town store clerk a year. And you think it's been a few months." Glancing in his ledger, "Here it is. Two years to the day. No customers in Lorime."
He turned to leave.
The oldster called after him, "It be yourn move, we had a bet. You wouldn't welch an old man, would you?"
The salesman turned back, "I told you too much time has passed. I've done so much; I just can't recall the game. That's not welching, is it?" looking at the passengers.
The old man stroked his beard, "It be yourn move. Charlie locked the game in the cabinet when you left. You member that don't you?" pointing to the bartender.
Charlie smiled, turned around, put a key in a lock, opened the glass door and carefully extracted a chessboard. Then he carried the half played game to the table.
The oldster picked up the board he and his friend were playing and the bartender put the salesman's game in its place. He then took the board from the oldster and took it to the glass cabinet.
Pointing to the now empty chair, "It be yourn move tobacco man."
The stage coach passengers pushed him, laughing, "If you can beat the King of Spain, surely you can take an old man."
The salesman reluctantly sat down. After a brief over-view of the board he moaned, "I don't recall these pawns this close to my king."
Charlie called over the bar, "Aign't nobody touched those pieces!"
When the stagecoach pulled out of town, the oldster had on a new suit from France, and the braggart salesman sat bare-butt shivering and quiet on the hard board of the dusty coach.
### the end. January 1994
RETURN TO INDEX index
Crazied Zonker spied me sittin on the tracks this mornin. I'd been collectin sinkin rocks to pitch in the creek. Just knew he'd want me to put them back. Yep. Right off he hollers I got to put each rock right back where I found it. That durn Zonker. He yelled, cursed, pointed an threatened my body. So's I put them back. Had me some real good ones too. Found just the creak hole in need of them rocks. Them rocks weren't many. But his Grandpa, worked for the I.C. Railroad, an that's all Zonker needed to git righteous.
Why I remember last spring he run some policemen off, swingin a log in both hands, screamin they was on railroad property. Them not bein rail detectives, had no right a bein there. So's they couldn't look for anybody. He wouldn't hear a word they said. Ol Crazied grabs up them logs, goin right at them, knocks off both their hats. Boy oh boy, you should have seen them run.
Yea Zonker's real protected of his grandpa's railroad. Guess that's why the I.C. don't run him out that boxcar he lives in. Funny about that car. Up one day appeared on West Station Sidin, an afore I git a chance to sees inside, Zonker pops his head out hollerin for me to keep away from his home. Well I can't remember the fright that come over me. No sir! Seems though, I walked home with wet pants that day.
Durn Zonker. Seein that car give me some club house ideas real quick. Course I forgot them an a lot more on seein C.Z., I call him that when I get mad at him, like this mornin after puttin them sinkin rocks back.
II
Me an Zonker has some dandy talks, I tell you. We'd been chattin one mornin about them spotted frogs over in Mary's pond. How's they some of the loudest in these parts, when Flappers pipes up about how the mill's frogs sang out so loud you couldn't hear the corn a bein ground. Course I knowed Flappers long in years an doubt near every word he ever said. I don't believe him about them frogs atall, an I say's so right to him, "The fact is," I says, "Mary's frogs are so strong an deep of voice, Mary has to sleep under her mattress all night, an that's why she aign't never had no kids." Flappers starts another lie about them mill frogs an his eyes get red an roll around. His ma never taught him how to lie straight out. So's Zonker says we ought to have a contest, then we'd know about them frogs.
Yea, that's a good one. A contest. We'll go git a Mary frog an a mill frog. Then we'll know. Flappers wanted to judge, course so did I, specially after we'd bet ten purees. Crazied said he'd judge, but we didn't like that. We trusted Crazied, but for sure he'd mix up them frogs an we'd never know. Sure looked to end our contest then Crazied said, "Let the Mayor decide. Yep, let the Mayor pick. He's a fair man." We all agreed on that.
Well sir, gatherin up a Mary frog weren't no Sunday stroll. Seem's they didn't want company, least not ourn. Had to sit, wait, grab, miss an grab again. Near on two hours afore Flappers plops one up under his hat. Did better at the mill, though. I had one under my shirt in ten minutes.
Was easy to see the Mayor was kinda surprised when we sat them frogs down on his desk. Him jumpin up, hittin his head on his bookshelf. Knocked his self down to the floor, chair an all. That got them frogs singin real good. Thought we were goin to have to stick them with hatpins, but the Mayor got them started for us.
Them frogs sure was loud. Couldn't hear a word the Mayor said. Flappers was pointin at the mill frog, grinnin an all like he had a sure winner. He was hollerin, "Aign't she a loud one, sir?" So's I starts pointin at mine too. Then Flappers put my frog up close to his ear an I looked around for Crazied. He was layin on the floor, a laughin. That's when I started callin him Crazied. Them boomin frogs bellowin together likes they be brother an sister, must have broken his ear inside an jumbled his brains. Layin on the floor in the Mayor's office, he's crazied for sure.
I figured the contest ought be long enough an stuck my frog in my shirt. Flappers put his back under his hat. Still Zonker is a laughin on the floor, so's I kick him to shut up. "Well Mayor, who's the loudest, who wins. Come on, you gotta decide. You're the fairest man around." "What?" he says, over an over. Seems that fall to the floor broke his hearin aid. With his arms flailin an screamin, "What?" over an over, Zonker says it's a tie till the Mayor gits his hearing aid fixed. Figure we'll try agin next week.
III
Ol Zonker has been around, I'm sure of that. He don't talk much of it, though. But now an agin he'll kick off a story, mostly right after eatin. He sits back up under a cottonwood, lickin out the last juice way down in the bottom of the bean can. Ma most time gives me a peanut sandwitch to hold me till I git back for supper. Zonker don't like peanuts an I don't like them cold beans, so's we don't fight over shares, like at home at supper. Little Suzy gits more seconds than anybody cause she got the killer scream in her. An she lets it loose if she aign't full. The Lord Almighty his self give up seconds to close up her mouth.
I was laid back, watchin the clouds race an thought Zonker was a sleepin. He thinks that tree bark is a downy mattress, least ways sittin agin it puts him to sleep. Zonker starts talkin about some men all around a big table of food an beer, smokin them fat cigars. Seems he's rememberin more to his self than talkin to me. So's I keep quiet an cupped my ears to catch his story. His voice starts gettin louder an louder. Soon he's up yellin an swingin them arms around, "What aces, what aces, I aign't no cheat!" Next off he's rollin on the ground, hollerin an kickin. Lord, I start to git sceered. Don't know what's ailin Zonker. It's the craziest story he ever done tell, rollin on the ground like that. Well, you know, I think Ol Zonker's dreamin. Sure that's it. So's I figured I better help him afore he hurts his self or me. There was a washin bucket full-up over there so's I throwed it on him, straight on his head. I jumped back hopin that wakes him.
Nothin. No good. He's still kickin an hollerin. Well if water won't, what will wake him. There I was standin in thought to tries to help Zonker when the sky rolls around, putting my nose in the ground. Crazied Zonker has pulled me down. Now he's callin me, "Sam you rat," over an over an shakin me hard. Real hard! "Wake up Zonker, wake up."
Up in the air, my tummy turns over, flop. He's got me up over his head an hollers, "This does it for you Sam." An starts runnin me toward the swimmin hole. "Put me down Zonker, let go, let go! Wake up, wake up! Oh Lord here I's come."
Durn that water was cold. Been cold a couple weeks now. So's I knowed I was alive still, not flyin with the angels. Where's the Zonker? Why shoot, he's over there on the bank a laughin an a grinnin. Then he says, "I told you yesterday you needed a bath." That durn Zonker, he done me a good one.
IV
Ya never knowed what Zonker be doin next. I seen him crawlin along followin some big ol black ant the other day. I set me right down an laughs till me insides promise to seep out. Don't bother Zonker none, though. He didn't even turn an eye, just likes I'm not around. Kinda struck me curious, him followin that ant, not payin me any mind. Then he sits back an scratches somethin in a little black book for awhile. An sets on to watch that ant agin. Appears to me that must be some mighty important ant, so's I git down close just to sees for myself what's this ant a doin that's got Zonker so buzy with him. Danged if I know, big an black an climbin over the grass like most other ants. Aign't carrin nothin. Seems to have Zonker in some spell. Him a writin an watchin an ant. Real puzzelin.
I knowed it. Ol Crazied Zonker's a playin a joke. Figures to fool me agin. Tryin to git me down crawlin after some ant. Ha, I pegged Zonker this time. I been keepin quiet to myself an figured I'll just turn the joke around. So's I just sit back an wait for Zonker to fessup how smart I is to catch his joke.
Zonker followed that ant till the sun left, writing them scratches in this book. Didn't seem like no joke atall. I seen in that book afore an he knows I can't read them scratches. Durn Zonker, what's he up to. I just gotta know. "Say hay Zonker, what you doin?" Says he been studin ants to see why they's such hard workers. "How you know they's hard workers?" Says he's a been watchin them, that's how. Well, seems kinda fishy to me. I knowed Ol Zonkers a holdin back secrets. First off tomorrow I'll git that school mam to lessen me in that scratch writin. Then I'll sees what's in that little black book.
V
I seen Zonker carrin boxes behind the store last week, so's I run over to sees what for. He's always got a smile for me. Even the time the skunk sprayed me an I went to wake him up for help. I stunk worsen Flapper's half-moon house. But when I finally got to Crazied's car my nose had forgot how awful that spray was, so's I walked up close and shook him awake. He smiled then too.
Seems Zonker got his self fancied about the widow Beth. That's her buggy he's a loadin up. An here she comes twirlin that laced umbrella, smilin an a thankin C.Z. for his kindness to be a helpin her. Zonker's got one of them crazied grins I seen him have whilst laid up agin that cottonwood a sleepin. Durn, he even bowed after tippin his hat. Dogged, I seen Billy Ray a bowin like that to Miss Emily, next off I heerd they's got married. Be just like that Zonker too. Up an gits his self hitched.
"Say Zonker, you a goin help me fix that car of yourn into a club house after you's an the widow a married?" Appears I said the wrong thing cause Ol Zonker aign't a smilin no more. No sir. He's a rollin up his sleeves, looking just like Pa afore he tans my bottom. Like last April when I fooled Pa, puttin the salt in the sugar bowl. Shoot an I thought it was real funny him spittin that oat meal all over Little Suzy.
Then Ol Zonker fools me. Sits his self rightdown on the ground a laughin like that's the best joke I ever done told. Yep says he'll help me with the club house when the widow Beth says yes, but that might be awhile.
VI
Me an Flappers been plannin on pullin a jimdandy on Zonker for Witch Night. We knowed he don't hold truth with spooks an all bein around here. He says all that spook talk is the workins of old women an fool kids. He never seen no spook an weren't a goin to. Even tellin him about them jangels an screechins up in the abandon Logger's place that happens every Witch Night since afore I was born, don't convince him. "Zonker, I heerd them, me's an Flappers been there twice now, an them spooks a there, they is."
All Crazied do is laugh, says us fool kids magination works more'n them space writer folks an durn near as hard as the comic book folks. Well Flappers an me done heerd them spooks, we knowed theys in that house an if Zonker don't believe us, well, we'll git him there so's his ears can tell that crazied head of his that spooks is real as he is.
Then it come to Flappers mind that them spooks might not jangel an screech with a crazied man around. "Least if I were'n a spook, I wouldn't trys to scare no crazied man, never knowed what he might do." Yea Flappers is a thinkin real good, them spook's is probably feered of crazied folks. Yea they won't jangel for Ol Zonker. Shoot, if they won't jangel, how's we a goin git Crazied to believe us.
We been puzzled about a week when I git this idea. A real jimdandy. Me an Flappers will hide in the Loggers place an do us the screechin an chain jangelin for Ol Zonker. We'll make us such a noise Zonker be believin in spooks the rest his days. All we gotta do is git Zonker up there. We'll beg him hard to come up to Loggers with us Witch Night to hears for his self. Him bein such a doubtin tom and us a pleadin hows real them spooks is, he'll come to show us we's just fool kids with powerful maginations. Then when we's real close, we both git chicken. Git too sceered to go up with him. Sure an he'll believe us too, us bein kids with powerful maginations done got ourn selfs too feered to go up to the spooks' house. Him a bein that close, havin walked so's far ought be easy to a git him to go in an hears for his self, specially as he figures there aign't no spooks in there or anywheres. An with Ol Crazied a goin in, them spooks will just run hides somewhere till he's gone. That'll give me an Flappers time to sneak around back an start us screechin an jangelin. Yep that's a good one. Me an Flappers worked an worked, gettin the plan perfect. He found some of his pa's ol chains an we hid them by the Loggers.
On Witch Night we got ourn plan a rollin. Flappers an me begged, an cried, an begged till Zonker said he'd come with us. We was close to the Loggers place so's I starts shakin an a lookin real sceered. "Flappers. I's gettin sceered, I aign't a goin in, no sirs not me. You an Zonker go. Wait, wait Flappers, don't leave me here, you stay, let Zonker go, I don't want to be alone. Go on Zonker, we'll stay here, you'll see them spooks is real like we said."
Well sir, Ol Crazied fell right in ourn plan an headed up to the front door, mumblin, "Kids an old women." Me an Flappers run around the back an pull out his pa's chains. "Hurry up Flappers, an be quiet with them chains. Zonker just about on the front porch now, lets git inside the kitchen an holler through the hallway." Flappers lets loose the most feersome squeal I done ever heard, if I weren't a holding his shirt tails I'd figure he'd be the king spook of them all. I set to shake them chains, then drag them slow like earthquake rumbles. We'd been carrin on about half hour, figured for sure Zonker convinced now. Then I feel the wind a blowin under my shirt, a chillin wind, got me to shakin all over, Flappers too. Knowed we should a worn them jackets.
Then I heerd it. Someone was walking down the stairs, creakin them old boards an hollered, "Who's makin that racket down in my kitchen?" So's I whispers to Flappers, "Lord Almighty, aign't nobody lives here no more, who's that a comin, that sure weren't Zonker." Then we heerd, "What you boys want?" Dogged, he's standin right there, right in front of me, so's my ears a say, but my eyes say aign't nothin in front of me.
Somehows Flappers an me tied up legs together git'n down them back steps an fall down. We rolled on the ground, an up a runnin, durn legs still tied up together like we's three leg racers till we go down again, then up a runnin around front to find Zonker. "Slow down boys, where ya been?"
"Lord Almighty Zonker, them spooks about got us, I swear they nearly did." Then we fess up about the whole jimdandy plan. How's we was the ones he heerd screechin an jangelin in the kitchen till the spook about got us.
Zonker says he went to the house, but turned around halfway to see if we was alright, then had to look all over for us thinkin we might have left or been lost, an how when he heerd us fallin down them steps, came back to see us runnin. We told him about the spook. Shoot, he laughs sayin our magination got us.
Me and Flappers grabs him an pulls him up around the back an into the kitchen. He's a goin believe us this time. That spook a scare him just like us. We waited near an hour, nothin, no steps, no voice, no spook.
Zonker walked us home that night. Zonker says boys' maginations sure can git right powerful an to git us some sleep.
Flappers figured it out the next day, though. That spook was so feered of Ol Crazied Zonker, her stayed upstairs.
## the end. Fall 1976.
RETURN TO INDEX index
First Day - a half day
Ms Smyth stopped paging through the teacher's copy of Business Today, 2nd edition. Something caught her attention, actually took her attention. "What?" she quick glanced at the open classroom door, no one. At eye level, through the window in the distance, the janitor strolled through the empty playground swings.
She looked at her Micky Mouse wrist watch, ten to eight; everyone was gathered noisily in the gymnasium, one hundred and twenty tiny anxious voices. Her first teaching assignment and already her nerves were frayed. "It's only third grade, they're children, nine year old children. What could they harm," she mumbled, "Calm down," again and again. She took a deep breath and proudly looked over her room. It was in order. She had her plan. She was ready.
Their name tags were taped on their desks. Each desk was filled with five books, a thick pad of wide lined writing paper, three pencils and a gum eraser. "They can already read. This is going to be a piece of cake," she thought. "Yes. Yes it is," her deepest voice said back to her.
The small silver bell above the door clanged and Ms Smyth's head jerked up. After a while she looked down at the new book in her hands, held open at a black and white photo of a union strike, coal miners with their children against company police.
Suddenly the gym doors opened and the chorus of a hundred hurrying feet reached her ears. They scurried to find their classrooms and the bathrooms before the next bell, a mere four minutes.
Ms Smyth closed the book and carefully slid it in between the green Math Made Simple and the red Your World texts. The books held aright by cast iron elephant heads on the left corner of her large drawerless desk. She took her plan card and quickly scanned over each line: 1) breath slowly; 2) alright class, quiet; 3) just sit down, quiet; 4) I'm your teacher, Ms Smyth; 5) desk assignments by name tags; 6) name in books; 7) break-in books; 8) preview book.
A flood of busseling energetic fingers and hands, arms waving, bodies bumping pushing squealing turning circles and caroming off desks, sliding into lockers and a drowning roar of high pitched children filled the void in Ms Smyth's plan. She bolted half out of her seat, then plopped back down on the hardwood chair. She held her plan card high, waving it as the wide eyes entered their homeroom.
She stood up, held the card before her face and read aloud, "1) breath slowly; 2) alright class quiet; 3) just sit down quiet; 4) I'm your teacher Ms Smyth."
But the children knew what to do, they remembered from last year. The fastest took the desks closest to the windows, the pets sat near the teacher and the nappers sat in the back. Two boys tried to sit in the same chair, yelling and pushing each other. The desks were filled quickly. Friends sat close, while the new and the shy kids stayed standing in the back of the room, waiting.
The second bell rang.
Ms Smyth's desk was surrounded by tiny fingers holding slips of paper thrust for her eyes only. Her plan card fell to the floor. Names and wants and wishes streamed, filling her ears. The tiny slips of paper smacked her face; the tiny mouths became blurs. Suddenly she bolted up, slamming the hardwood chair against the blackboard, "Blam!"
She shrieked, "Quiet!"
The circle of tiny hands and loud mouths stepped back, then slid quickly and quietly back to the desks. They sat at the first empty desk they found. The kids in the front row, who had witnessed her uproar, sat rigid, silent and fearsome. The chatty kids in the back, those not watching, not caring yet, not really having heard the chair or her shriek of quiet, continued their animation.
Ms Smyth looked over the class, saw her shaky hands, spotted the plan card on the floor and picked it up. She reviewed: 1) breath slowly; 2) alright class quiet. She breathed slower and slower, looked over the class, then whispered, "Quiet please. Take your seats."
The shy kids standing silently in the back saw, but couldn't hear her.
She repeated herself a little louder, "Quiet please. Take your seats please."
The chatty kids continued.
Ms Smyth went behind her chair, picked it up a few inches and slammed it to the floor hard, "Bam!" and then hard again, "Bam!" Then she shrieked, "Quiet!"
This time the entire class quieted and turned to look at their new teacher. Her chair, raised to waist high, was shaking.
The silence was broken by long loud static on the wall speaker above the clock, "Good morning Peabody Elementary School students and staff. Welcome. This is your principal. Is everybody happy?"
Ms Smyth grinned and nodded yes and her class of 3B third graders mimicked her. She lowered her chair to the floor and sat down behind her desk. She looked at the seating chart taped on the corner of the desk.
He continued, "For lunch today the cooks have prepared: peanut butter on white bread, carrot chips, pear halves, vanilla or chocolate ice cream cups, milk. Please raise your hands if you intend to eat the cafeteria food. Thank you. Teachers remember to mark your lunch count on the absentee slip. I want to wish everyone a good year. And remember my door is always open. Have a nice day." The static blared briefly over the speaker, then silence.
"Please raise your hands if you are going to eat the cafeteria food," repeated Ms Smyth.
"Teacher, teacher," called a reddish pig-tailed girl, "How much does it cost?"
"The lunch in the cafeteria is free this year."
Everyone raised their hands.
She began counting hands, but stopped at nine, "This won't do. Twenty desks, twenty kids. Will everyone please take a seat? Sit down please." She pointed at the kids standing in the back.
The shy children along the back row slowly moved toward empty desks. Two sat down, but three kids just stood by the desks looking at the name tags taped at the top of each.
"Please just take a seat," she implored. "I've got to get this attendance lunch slip done."
Two of the girls raised their hands.
"Yes, what is it?" she asked, pointing to the dark girl.
The girl pointed at the name tag, "This is Amy's desk, not mine."
"And this one says Patrick T.," added the blond across the isle from her.
Ms Smyth put her left hand on her forehead, "Oh that's right. We haven't done desk assignments."
Suddenly the class began to buzz, each kid mumbling, pointing to the name tag. Animated gestures protested and complaints rumbled from them. They quickly began pointing at the desks in other isles. "There's mine, there's Bobby's. I see Juli's. Where's mine. Get out of my desk. This one is mine. I'm in my own seat, how about that." Their tiny voices meshing into a loud din. They were all up and out of their desks, looking and pushing, pointing and bumping each other to find their own seats.
Ms Smyth jumped up, her hands before her, waving them back down, "Class sit down. Sit down, take your seats. Just take a seat, it's okay for now." Her voice only meshing with the group's.
Some of the kids called to her, "I am. Where's my seat? Cool it teacher. I don't have a seat." Most of the class found their names and were sitting at their desks. They pointed at their name, mouthing, "I am, see teacher."
Two girls grab-pushed the boys standing aside their desks acting lost. They landed in their seats.
"Quiet. Quiet quiet!" Ms Smyth shrieked.
The class sat still and very quiet. Only three boys remained standing, each far from a vacant desk.
Ms Smyth very slowly went to the closest vacant desk and read the name aloud, "George M."
The boy in the black rimmed safety glasses called, "That's me."
She motioned for him to come to her.
He walked around the back of the rows and then stopped aside the desk.
"This is yours, please take your seat," the tension still in her voice.
"Thanks teach," he grinned, quickly sliding in.
She stood by the next vacant desk and read aloud, "Tommie T."
"That's me, mame," and the boy with shoulder length brown hair trotted to his desk and sat.
As she walked around to the next vacant desk she looked at the sandy hair boy and asked, "What's your name lad."
"Johnson. Robert Johnson," eyes widening.
She stood at the desk, "Johnson R.," pointing at the name tag, motioning him forward.
He too, quick and quiet, took his seat.
Ms Smyth looked about the class, then walked over to the remaining vacant desk. "Amanda M.," she called loudly.
"Here. Here," two tiny voices answered giggling, "he he he te he."
She looked at the far corner desk, eyeing one girl sitting on the lap of another, "What are you girls doing? One person to a desk please."
They giggled again, "He he he te he." Both responding, "This is my desk, this is my name," both pointing at the name tag, 'Amanda M.'
Ms Smyth soon stood beside them, "Amanda M. Sure is," pointing to the name tag. Then she asked, "What is your full name?"
"Amanda Monks."
"Mine is Amanda Martin."
"Oh. That's what happened. Well," taking the girl on top by the hand, "come with me Amanda Monks. You sit over there."
Amanda Monks went and sat down. She looked at her friend Amanda Martin, they giggled again, "He he he te he."
Ms Smyth went to the first row, first desk and addressed her class, "Alright. Everyone is at a desk. We will check them one at a time."
She went from desk to desk saying the name tag names and then asked each child's name. When she had completed the name check, she returned to her desk. "Everyone is in their own desk. You will sit there everyday. The books in the desks are yours to use. You are responsible for them. Lose them or ruin them and you will pay for them. Is that understood?"
"Yes teacher," soft mumbles emitted.
"Good. Now class take your book and put your name in the inside cover. Neatly and ...," before she could finish her sentence the desk tops were snapped open and the books were yanked out, plopped on laps and being stacked on the floor. Some had only taken one book out. Some had their desks tops open and were staring at their supplies. Two boys sat looking out the window at the distant black birds flying south.
Ms Smyth sat in disbelief, slowly shaking her head. She began to jump up, caught herself. She looked at the clock, looked at the class writing their names in their books, then sat back relaxed against the back of her hardwood chair, "At least they're quiet, sort of." She stared at the group opening book covers, scribbling inside, and paging through their new books, books that would occupy their daylight hours for the next nine months.
The racers were done, books slammed back inside, hands folded waiting for the next task.
The planners were still selecting where and precisely how they would ordain name to cover.
The self starters were done and were reading chapter one.
Scattered about floor laid the books of the slop hounds.
Then there were the neat necks.
Every class had a turtle, some two, whose desk tops remained closed.
This was her first class, the first day, the first hour, their first assignment. No hurry, the long year lay ahead. Breath slow, calm, calm. She looked at the plan card, the clock and finally at her hidden camera.
The first bell rang, bringing Ms Smyth back to awareness. Her twenty minutes were up. The class was slamming their books into their desks and then sitting back with folded hands atop their desk.
"Alright class, you will have four minutes. Get a drink, or go to the bathroom or you may remain at your desks. I will see you tomorrow."
The class bolted from their desks and darted toward the door. Pushing, shoving, squealing they packed against each other, forcing a double row of bodies through the doorway to stream into the hallway to mix with the rest of the classes.
Waving her hands she called after them, "Stop. Stop. Wait. Slow down. Walk. One at a time. Stop." Her protests went unheard, unheeded as they squealed delightfully into the hallway. Even the shy kids were pushing and being pushed along by their fellow classmates. Within seconds the room was empty.
Ms Smyth shook her head slowly, took a deep breath and got up. She retrieved the large satchel with its hidden battery powered video recorder from the tall book shelf in the front corner by the window. She placed it on her desk and popped the top open, reaching inside she manipulated the recorded tape free then slid the second blank tape into its slot. She then gathered her notebook, plan card and left. She crossed the hallway into the next class to teach second hour, the 3A third graders.
All the teachers shifted rooms to teach their specialty. The students remained in their homeroom all day, except the four minute breaks and the half hour lunches. The trustees felt the teacher room shifts were less chaotic. The entire school hauling their books from class to class each hour had caused too many accidents and tardys in the past. This year each teacher took lunch and attendance count the first hour. Thereafter, they changed rooms each hour and administered their specialty.
The rooms were identical, the desks too with a storage area under the lid and an attached hardwood chair. The teacher's desk was a large table, no drawers with a loose hardwood chair. A large tall book shelf stood in the corner, one shelf per teacher. The outer wall of windows was edged by a built-in electric heater sitting atop a full length tier of shelves. The windows opened on an outward slant so the rain slid off while the air came in underneath, but not wide enough for anyone to climb through. Each window section had its own venetian blinds. The back wall held a cork billboard for pictures and posters. The other two walls held blackboards with chalk trays full.
The second bell rang.
The second hour class quickly filled with chatty smiles hurrying to their desks. Shortly thereafter Ms Smyth began calling their names from the seating chart taped to the lower right hand corner of the teacher's desk. Everyone was there, twenty third graders: ten boys, ten girls.
"Alright boys and girls, please get your Business Today books and..."
Desk tops began popping open and slamming shut before she could tell them what.
She took a deep breath, looked at her plan card for 2nd hour then sat back.
Soon the class sat staring silently at her.
"Class please open your books to the inside cover," holding her text high before her she opened it slowly.
Quickly the noise of hardback covers plopped on the desks. Some open to the front cover, others to the back cover, some in the middle pages and others still closed.
"Alright class. Does everyone have a Business Today book?" quickly eyeing each child.
A chorus of yeses and uhuhs emitted among the dozens of books held head high.
"Very good class. Put the books down, quietly."
Some went in their desks, some on the desks, some on the floor.
"No no no class! Put your books on top of your desks," and she gestured her book to the top of her desk.
All the books got put on top of the desks.
Ms Smyth held her book up with her left hand, front cover facing the class. Pointing to it with her right hand, "Does everyone have this book on their desks?"
Again a chorus of yeses and uhuhs emitted among a dozen books held head high.
"No no no class! Put the books on top of your desks."
The books were slammed down, "Bam bam bam wam!"
Ms Smyth got up from her seat and slowly walked down each isle looking and adjusting the books. Then she stood in front of the class and slowly opened the front cover, pointing to the lines stamped for name and date. "Everyone please open the front cover to this page. Is your name already written on this page?"
A chorus of yeses and noes and whats emitted.
"Alright class, quiet please. Take a pencil from your..."
The desk tops flew open and hands grabbed, books slid, pencils fell on the floor and some disappeared among the other books. Desks tops closed.
"Alright class. Quiet please," her index finger against her pursed lips.
When everyone got quiet, the first bell rang.
The kids quick put their books and pencils back in their desks then sat quiet, hands folded waiting.
Ms Smyth looked at the clock above the door, then slowly shook her head. She took a deep breath and returned to her desk and sat down. She reviewed her plan card then said, "Tomorrow we will finish putting names in books and begin reading aloud Chapter One. You will have four minutes to get a drink or go to the bathroom. Have a nice day."
All the students rushed the door, pushing, shoving and squealing, streaming by twos out into the hallway.
Ms Smyth put her book back among the stack on the left hand corner of the large drawerless desk. She gathered her assignment notebook and put the plan card within. She went to the tall bookshelf and carefully retrieved her purse, lunch and the recording satchel. Looking at the emptying class, she opened the satchel and gingerly extracted the video tape, replacing it with the next blank tape marked 3rd hour. She closed the satchel. Then she carried everything to her third hour room, forth grade, 4A.
As she wove through the hallway she spied the white haired math teacher, Mrs. Trowler. They paused and smiled at each other. Then the ancient form moved slowly through the flitting young.
With the video camera positioned carefully on the tall bookshelf, Ms Smyth took her seat. She opened her assignment book and took out her plan card for 4th grade muttering, "Breath slow. Calm calm."
The anxious students slipped quietly into their seats. Two girls stood before her, eyes wide at their new teacher. "What's your name? What subject do you teach? Can we sit together, please? I don't like that Bobby Rains, he's a big bully. I won't sit near him. I won't. I don't have to cause my daddy's the bank president and he says I don't have to sit next to any bully." The two girls babbled on, spitting out questions and statements before Ms Smyth could answer. Soon a half dozen students had completely surrounded her desk.
Someone pulled at her shoulder length hair, "See it's not a wig." The second bell rang as Ms Smyth, enraged, spun in her chair to grab the hair puller. Her pained shriek just contained, muffled by the clanging bell. The group about her desk ducked and darted back to their desks and sat quiet with their hands folded before the second bell stopped.
Ms Smyth was up and had taken two steps after the likely looking hair puller when the second bell began. She caught herself. Looked at the bell, at the quiet class, at the clock, then over her shoulder at the hidden camera. She took a deep breath then reached for the Business Today text book. This she held before the class, high in her left hand. "This is what I teach, Business Today," pointing to the text with her right index finger. "I am Ms Smyth, your teacher," pointing to herself.
"You will raise your hands when you wish to speak. I will point to you and then you will ask your question. You will stay in your desks at all times. You will not, you will never go near my desk. You will raise your hand if you want something. Are there any questions? Does everyone understand?"
A chorus of yeses, noes and I don't understands emitted.
"Quiet. Quiet class!" her voice boomed at them. "You will raise your hand if you have any questions. I will then point at you and call you by name, as soon as I learn your names, then you will ask your questions. Is that understood?"
A softer chorus of yeses and noes, uhuhs and understoods emitted.
"Quiet. Quiet class. Raise your hand if you have something to say or some question to ask."
The entire class raised their hands and a chorus of yeses, noes and understoods giggled.
Ms Smyth looked at the ceiling, then down to the floor, then slowly shook her head. She took another deep breath, "Quiet class. Everyone will be quiet. Quiet! No sound. And lower your hands."
The class put their hands down and sat back quietly staring at the new teacher.
She repeated herself, "My name is Ms Smyth. I am your Business Today teacher. You will address me as Ms Smyth or teacher. You will raise your hand first if you have a question or something to say. Now class does anyone..."
The entire class of hands popped silently up.
"Does anyone in this first row have a question? Just this row. We will do this row first."
All the hands dropped and some disappointed groans slipped from the far side. Everyone in the first row had their hands up.
Ms Smyth pointed at the first seat and the girl stood beside her desk and began, "Ms Smyth. I want to know..." before she could finish Ms Smyth interrupted her.
"Please sit down. You don't have to stand to talk."
The girl protested, "But we do have to stand. It's the rule teacher."
Ms Smyth glanced at the nodding heads about the room, "Whose rule?"
"The school's rule, Ms Smyth. We all had to stand to talk last year," the girl confidently reported, looking back at her fellow classmates' agreeing nods.
Ms Smyth slowly shook her head no, walked over to the girl's desk and put her book on the name tag, "Jamie. I am the teacher. This is Business Today. This is the book we will be studying. I make the rules in my class. So Jamie, you will sit down. And you will stay in your seat to talk. Please take your seat Jamie."
Jamie sat back down.
Ms Smyth walked backwards to stand aside her large drawerless desk. "Alright class. I will repeat my name. My name is Ms Smyth. I am your Business Today teacher. You will stay in your seats at all times. If you have something to say or a question to ask, you will raise your hand. I will call upon you and then you will talk. You will talk sitting down. Alright class. Are there any questions?"
The entire class quietly raised their hands.
She took another deep breath, slowly shook her head then walked over to stand in front of the first row. "Alright class. Put your hands down."
Everyone did. A few girlish giggles slipped amidst the hands flopping on the desk tops.
"Does anyone in the first row have a question?"
Again they all raised their hands.
She pointed to the dark brown eyed boy at the second desk.
He stood up, "Mrs. Smith, do we have to..."
"Stop. Sit down. I said everyone will stay sitting down to talk." She stood steadfast with her arm rigid, pointing at his chair.
The boy stood quiet, frozen.
Jamie broke the long silence with her protest, "Ms Smyth you skipped me. I didn't get to ask my question."
She jerked her glare to Jamie, still sitting in the first desk, her hand held up. The dark eyed boy was still standing. Ms Smyth said, "Jamie, yes you did. You stood up and told about the old rule of standing to talk. And I said that was last year's rule. This year is my rule of no standing. Always sitting. Everyone always sitting to talk."
Her hand still held high, Jamie continued, "Yes Ms Smyth that's what you said. But my question was not about standing to talk. That's what you wanted to talk about. It's not what I wanted to talk about. So you see, I still haven't gotten to ask my question." A broad grin confronted Ms Smyth.
She stared down at Jamie, the boy standing, then at the clock and a quick glance at the hidden camera. "Well Jamie. I think you are right. You didn't get to ask your question. You didn't get to ask your question because you were standing up. Yes yes that's what happened." She looked at the boy still standing, "Well it seems it's still Jamie's turn. Please take your seat."
The boy's boot caught the front edge of the desk, scooting it back just enough to cause him to miss sliding onto the seat. As he sprawled to aright himself, it slid into the other desks. He landed hard in the seat about the same time his desk crashed against Milli's.
She screamed at the motion and the collision.
Embarrassed and startled, he yelled at her, "Shut up. You're alright. I'm the one 'bout busted his butt." And he slid his desk back into its opening in the first row. He looked back at Ms Smyth, "Sorry mame. These desks are real slippery. I'm okay, 'xcept maybe a bruised butt," his hand held gingerly on his left hip.
The class let loose a large laugh and finger points at him. He kept up his wounded antics.
Ms Smyth returned to her desk. She waited a few moments for the laughter to subdue, then held her hands high, waving them downward, "Quiet. Quiet class." Looking at the seating chart she called to the boy, "Are you sure you are alright Brandn?"
"Well, I think so," he grinned, looking shyly at his fiends.
"I can give you a slip to see the Nurse. Maybe she should look at that bruise," suggesting more than telling.
The class giggled as he replied, "No no, it's okay," his eyes widening with imagined fear.
She looked at Milli, "Are you okay?"
"Yes Ms Smyth, thank you for your inquiry. I'm quite satisfactory. The ruffian only startled me. Though I'd settle for a cup of tea and a crumpet," holding her chin up, she whisks the dust from her skirt.
"Well Milli. I think you'll have to wait for..."
And the bell rang before she could continue.
"Alright class. Tomorrow we will begin reading aloud Chapter One in your Business Today books," holding the book high for the class to see.
Jamie sat with her hand held high, waving frantically to catch her attention.
"Tomorrow Jamie, we will get to your question first thing tomorrow," she smiled at her. "See you tomorrow class."
The entire class stormed the doorway, rushing, shoving and squealing to stream through it two abreast.
Ms Smyth retrieved her purse, lunch and satchel, changing the tape before proceeding through the corridor to her next class, 5A. She meshed with the blur of noisy bodies until within the sanity of the open doorway. She didn't see the other teachers making their room shifts.
This room identical to the others, she placed her camera satchel atop the tall bookshelf facing the class. She sat down, resting her head on her hands to drift-rest briefly. She regained consciousness to an unnervy silence. When she looked out from between her fingers, the room was full and the students were staring at her. She glanced at the plan card then took the Business Today book from its standing place on the corner of the desk. She held it high for the class to see, "Everyone will slowly, quietly take this book out of their desks. Now."
In unison they opened their desk tops, extracted the book and placed it upon the desk. They sat staring at her.
She held up a pencil in her right hand, "Everyone will slowly, quietly take out one pencil from your desks. Now."
Again in unison they opened their desk tops, extracted a pencil and placed it upon the desk. They sat staring at her.
She put the pencil down, took the book and opened the front cover, "Everyone open to the front cover page."
The group slapped the hardback cover page open.
She held the book open at the bottom with her left hand and took the pencil in her right, pointing it to the stamped name lines. "Everyone will neatly print your full name on the top line space. First name and last name. Now."
The group bent heads and twenty pencils scratched upon the inside cover page. As each finished, pencils snapped against the desk tops.
"Alright class. On the next inside cover page you will print my name, M S S M Y T H. Now," pointing to the blank area atop the second page.
Again twenty pencils scribbled. Again twenty pencils snapped desk tops.
"To repeat class, M S S M Y T H," slow moving her index finger with each letter pronounced.
Silence as the group over-viewed their work.
"Very good class. Now under my name put the date, 09-03-93. That's 09-03-93," her index finger marking each number on the cover page.
Fast scribbling pencils cut the air waves then slammed quickly down. Then a few more slammed down, and then a couple more snapped from the back row, then one from the front and a chorus echoed back from the windows.
"Alright class. Put your books and pencils slowly, quietly away. Now," she slowly put her book on her desk.
The group did as she instructed then returned to their quiet positions.
"Alright class," again holding the business text high, "Everyone will take out their Business Today text, slowly, quietly. Now."
The group took quiet, eye questioning glances among themselves as the books came out and onto the desks again.
When they sat quiet she continued, "Alright class. Very good. I am very proud of this group. You follow instructions perfectly. I can tell this will be a very good year already. Alright class. We have to break-in the text book. Please follow my instructions carefully. Keep the text flat on the desk at all times.
First, open the book to the middle section, page 100. Place your hands in the middle of the page at the center and carefully push slide each hand outward. Next, place your hands at the top of the page in the center, then push slide each hand outward to the page edges. Then place your hands in the center, but at the bottom of the page. Then push slide your hands outward. Raise your hands if you have done this procedure before."
All the group raised their hands.
"Very good. Alright. Proceed to do the center section," she put her book flat on her desk, opened to page 100 and slide her hands over both sides.
The group quickly finished then sat quiet, staring at her.
"Alright class. Now we will break-in each half, left half, then the right half. First take the left half on page 50. And proceed to push slide each side from the center to top to bottom," she followed her instructions.
The group turned to page 50 and push slid back both sides. Then sat back staring silently.
"Alright class. Turn to page 175 and break that part down," she quick slide both sides of her book again.
The group quickly did.
"Alright class," looking at the clock, "slowly, quietly put your books away."
The group put their books away. As the desk tops closed the first bell rang. The group sat quiet, hands folded on their laps.
Ms Smyth annotated her instruction book. Then she smiled and said, "Alright class. Tomorrow we will begin reading aloud in your business text. Have a nice day."
The students got up slowly. And as they approached the doorway, they carefully avoided bumping or pushing together. Only a few kids clustered close, whispering.
She took her satchel and changed tapes, putting 5B in the slot. Some kids in the back sat watching her slight-of-hand motion deep within it. She left 5A and merged across the hallway to the 5B classroom. She placed the satchel carefully atop the tall bookshelf in the front corner.
She sat at her desk and put her head down on her hands to rest. Reflecting, "That class went perfectly. I will repeat everything I did last hour during this class, both are fifth graders so they should respond similar."
And as she thought so did the class occur, 5B went exactly as 5A. The books were named and the pages broken in with no problems or incidents.
As the 5B class slowly filed out into the hallway, she retrieved her things from atop the tall bookshelf. As she put in a blank tape for 4B, again some of the kids in the back seats sat quietly watching her manipulate the hidden video camera.
She smiled good day to a fellow teacher making the hallway shift then entered her next classroom. Again she carefully positioned the satchel and took to her desk. "I wonder if I can duplicate last hour this hour." So she put her head down to briefly rest.
The second bell rang as the feet shuffled against desks. Their high pitched, excited voices were too many to discern any phrases. The shuffling feet slowed and the sliding desks quieted. The low constant drone of young people noise came to a lull briefly then began to rise louder and louder for Ms Smyth missed the moment to rise, to take control of the class by thinking, "Just a few more minutes rest and they will be as quiet as the 5th graders." Wrong. Very wrong.
Something light bumped her head. She peeked above her fingers to see a half dozen flying paper airplanes. She quick stood up, sending the chair against the blackboard, "Bam!"
The class froze silent. The airplanes fell to the floor.
"There will be no throwing in school. Never again. No paper airplanes, no pencils, no erasers, no books, no balls. Nothing! No throwing! Not in my class!" She slowly walked to each airplane and carefully picked each one up. She returned to her desk and addressed the class a little calmer, a little slower, but just as sternly. "If I catch anyone, and I mean it, boy or girl throwing in my class, this will be your head!" Then she slowly crushed, wadded the stack of paper airplanes between her fingers.
The class moaned softly.
She placed the wad of paper in the tall book shelf in the corner, just below her satchel. She spun around and faced the class pointing at the wad with her left index finger. With her right hand she slowly pointed at each innocent face, "That wad of airplanes represents you and it will stay here on this shelf all year to remind you to not, never, throw in my class!"
She returned to her desk, sat down, took a deep breath and glanced at her plan card, 4B, "Alright class. Take out your Business Today text books and a pencil," holding her copy up for the class to see.
Desk tops flipped up and soon flopped closed. Twenty books slammed down and then twenty pencils snapped atop the books. Feet shuffled and giggles emitted.
"Alright class. Quiet!"
With the silence, she continued. "Open to the inside cover and neatly print your names, first and last name, on the first blank line." She held the book up for the class to see.
A boy in the back row raised his hand, "Teacher, teacher."
She quick glanced at the seating chart on the desk corner, "Yes Reginal, what is it?"
"I can't see what you are doing, it's too far," he called loudly to her.
"Well Reginal, do you have your book open to the first page?"
"Yes. I think so," he yelled to her.
"Are you looking at the stamped lines on the inside cover?" pointing at her open page.
Glancing dumfounded from his book to her, "Well, I don't know. What do they look like?" Again very loudly answering her.
She got up slowly and went to the blackboard. Took up a piece of white chalk and quickly drew a large rectangle with a wide line down the middle. Then on the left side she began drawing a stack of six lines a few inches apart. "Class this is the name line stamp. You are to carefully print your full name on the first line. Here," pointing at the blank line on the board. As she turned to face the class her ears caught the soft girlish giggles and her eyes just glimpsed the flying object about to crash into her ear. She swat it out of the air as she ducked.
The class burst a loud laugh.
"Quiet!" she shrieked and slammed her foot against the hardwood chair which slammed loudly against the desk, "Bam."
The class silenced and sat innocent, looking at their careful name printing.
She took a deep breath, ignoring the crumpled airplane. Glancing quickly at the board she put her left index finger to the top of the right cover page. "Now class. Print my name at the top of the right page. M S S M Y T H," she slowly pronounced each letter as the class looked and printed. Then she said, "Now print the date, 09-03-93," saying each number very slowly. "Is anyone still printing?" looking over the immobile group.
The boy next to Reginal raised his hand, "Teacher?"
"Yes?" pointing to him.
"Teacher?" looking at his book, "How do you spell that name, Mrs. Smith?"
"No. Not Mrs. Smith, it's MS SMYTH."
Quickly erasers began wiping over the misspellings, pushing the dirty balls of rubber to the floor.
"Let's try again, M S S M Y T H," she slowly called out each letter.
After a few minutes the same boy raised his hand again, "Teacher?"
"My name is Ms Smyth," she slowly pronounced it.
"Okay teacher, I mean Mrs. Smith. How did you say, was that 'y' or 'i' or 'ht'?" he asked mischievously.
"No! No! It's S M Y T H." She turned back to the blackboard and printed in large letters at the top of the second page drawing: MS SMYTH. Saying each letter slowly, loudly. When she finished, she put the chalk on the slot and turned to face two flying paper planes coming toward her. She froze and the planes smashed against the blackboard, one on each side of her head, falling then to the floor amidst the sudden burst of laughter. "Quiet! Quiet! Quiet! She blurred and grabbed the chair high above the desk.
The first bell rang.
She stood still, staring at the clock. "Alright class," she called from between the chair's back slots, "Time to put your books and pencils away."
The class flipped up desk top lids and threw in their books and dropped in their pencils and held their laughter within.
Ms Smyth slowly put the chair down, then slowly slid it under the desk. She went to the tall bookshelf and took down her things. At her desk she said, "Alright class. Tomorrow we will begin reading Chapter One aloud. See you then."
The class stormed the doorway, pushing, shoving, jamming themselves into each other to stream through the doorway among the hallway roamers.
Meanwhile she carefully extracted the 4B tape and turned off the recorder. Then she followed the last students into the hallway to enter her homeroom. There she sat and calmly waited for the class to be seated before the end of the second bell.
She quieted the class, "Quiet please for role call." And she calmly called each name on the seating chart. Hearing their, 'yeses and heres and present,' replies, she marked all present without looking up. As she glanced over her plan card the loud speaker buzzed.
The speaker box above the clock static-on and the class quieted as the principal began his announcements, "Good afternoon Peabody Elementary staff and students. I trust you all had a good day. There were no accidents or incidents reported. Keep up the good behavior. Remember we are going for the record of longest days without accidents or incidents. If we break last year's record, we all will have a travel trip to the zoo and a party in the park next spring." The static blared briefly over the speaker, then silence.
The last bell rang and the students burst from their desks out into the hallways and streamed near running onto the playground and into lines at the bus doorways. Some found their waiting parents' cars and others began their short walks home. Within fifteen minutes the buses were full and were out on the street as a parade procession, followed by housewives car pooling their neighborhood kids home.
Ms Smyth locked her homeroom door and went to her after school duty. She and two other teachers stood at their appointed watch-over positions waving good-byes and helloes to parents with happy faces. Then the teachers returned to their respective classrooms to collect their thoughts, close windows, and to relax with feet propped, soaking in the silence of the empty school.
Ms Smyth regained herself thirty minutes later. Opening her eyes, sitting erect she watched the last two kids slide down the long winding, shinning metal. A boy then a girl landed on flat feet, running immediately, giggling at each other. The boy ran left and then right as the pigtails swiped her hand at his dodging. Suddenly she stopped and ran back toward the school. Then too did the boy, chasing her around the slide then through the swings.
Ms Smyth smiled at their game, then took her gaze to her video satchel on the desk before her. She looked at the clock, got up slinging the purse strap over her right shoulder and the satchel strap atop it. The satchel rested snugly below the purse. She dropped her lunch sack in the waist basket, muttering, "I want a banana split." She offed the lights and left out the back door for the quiet walk across the playground to the small row of houses across the street.
She entered the third house, a small white frame, and sat on the couch in the living room. She took the stack of video tapes from the satchel and placed 3B in the VCR. As it rewound she got up to close the curtains, blocking the view of the school until the next morning. In the kitchen she made herself that deserved banana split. She reviewed each tape making notes in her assignment book in-between bites of vanilla ice cream covered by cheery juice.
She turned to her computer and opened the first file. Five hours later her plan cards for the next day were complete and her satchel held a new stack of blank, hour long video tapes. She dated the file then closed it, offing the machine. She felt tired and stretched back to nap. She awoke around midnight very hungry and micro waved a TV dinner. Full, she set her alarm and readied for bed and was back to sleep within the hour.
Day Two - the full days begin
At 6am the clock buzzer startled her awake.
By 8:01am she sat behind the large drawerless desk in her homeroom class of 3B staring at the clock. She got up to check the camera and found it wasn't on. She shook her head then pushed the record button. Then carefully replaced the satchel atop the tall bookshelf. As she turned back to her desk, the janitor standing in her doorway caught her corner vision. She smiled nervously, "Good morning. Is there something you need?"
Jake the janitor tipped his cap warmly, "Yes mame there is." He grinned her, put both his hands in his overall pockets and left.
At the morning gym assembly the principal explained that each student would get their locker combination on a tiny pink slip of paper from their homeroom teacher. He strongly encouraged them to memorize and to keep it secret. "Having a locker is a right, but keeping it is a privilege. No one can look in a your locker without an official police warrant. Not even your teacher or your parents." He stressed, "Those lockers are your private personal spaces. No one can get in unless you let them. And you keep these locker privileges for free the entire year, unless. Unless you violate the school rules of conduct. The rules are posted in each room and your homeroom teacher will review them with you."
The bell rang and the hallway quickly filled with one hundred and twenty chirpy children, pushing, shoving, bumping along until breaking into small streams that disappeared quickly into the side doors of the classrooms.
He called after them, "Stop! Wait! Slow down, wait." He looked at their disappearing backs. Then sat down by his secretary, "Make a note for the teachers' meeting, 'How to slow the kids down. Orderly leaving of gym'."
The white haired Miss Hancock smiled at her companion of 29 years, "Yes sir. Straight off at the first meeting on Friday."
Today was locker day. During each hour one class would go into the hallway and get their individual lockers. Where they would keep their coats and lunches, extra clothes, posters, pictures, playground toys and ... well, the list was endless. Valuables were discouraged and weapons of any kind were strictly forbidden. Each locker had its own three number, left, right, left, combination. The master list was kept in the principal's vault. Even the homeroom teacher did not have the kids' combination numbers.
After the second full day of school was done, she could hardly believe it. It seemed as if she had been sitting before the VCR reviewing the first day's tapes only minutes ago. "But that was yesterday. My how the time does pass by so quickly," she thought. Again she sat on the couch with the curtains drawn and the VCR playing the second hour tape while sipping tea and jotting short notes onto a thesis pad. After the tapes played she put formal comments onto a computer file. Thereafter she made the morrow's plan cards per class. That was her night time schedule.
School went from 8am till 3pm with six 56 minutes classes and two half hour lunch periods. Then an hour of teacher planning after the kids left. That put her at home near 4pm. After 6pm she began review and plan, by 10pm she should be done. A bed snack and some TV news then down to sleep. A workhorse schedule, but only for the first month. Then the video observations would be done and the class room work routine would be in place and be less tiring. She could do one month of intense work, her Doctorate was certainly important enough. By summer she figured to have her Ph.D. then onto Psychoanalysis money. She drifted into her future for a while.
Looking back at the VCR, she remembered the antics of her third grade homeroom class getting their lockers. "Alright class, quiet. Today you get your lockers. You will get your lockers after we get the classroom work for today done." She pointed to the blackboard: 1) your names on cover page; 2) my name on opposite cover page M S S M Y T H; 3) break-in new book. "Alright class. Slowly, quietly take out your Business Today text and a pencil. Now!"
The anxious kids hurried into their desks, extracting books and pencils. They had their books open and were about to begin printing when she yelled at them.
"Alright class. Stop! Stop what you are doing. Everyone freeze!" Ms Smyth took her book from the desk, opened the inside cover and pointed at the stamped name lines. "Here on the inside page. On the first line, print your name, first and last names." She put her book down on the desk and went to the blackboard and pointed to the large drawing, "Here on the first page, the inside cover, on the top stamped line you will print your first and last name. Alright class begin."
When the pencils snapped quiet on the desk tops, she continued, "Alright class. On the next page at the top you, will print my name, M S S M Y T H, and today's numbers: 09-04-93. Just as it is here on the blackboard. Alright class begin."
And the group began printing again.
When the pencils lay quiet, she continued, "Alright class. Slowly, quietly put the pencils away. Only the pencils, put the pencils in your desks."
Desk tops flipped up, some high, others only slightly as the pencils dropped within the storage area. Soon they sat quietly starring at her.
"Alright class. That was very good. Next we will carefully break in the new books. This is easy to do. We are not really going to break the book. We are just going to open the book to certain pages and stretch the pages so the book will be easy to open. Here is what we will do." She erased the drawings and put the numbers 100, 50, 150, 25, 175 on the blackboard. "Alright class. Everyone open their books to page 100." When the class became quiet again she said, "Now class close the book," she gestured her hands closed.
The books slammed closed.
"Now open the book to page 100 again," she gestured her hands open.
Everyone did.
"Now close the book," she gestured her hands closed.
When they sat silent again she said, "See how easy that is. Next we will do page 50. Open, close, open, close. Two times. Okay go."
They paged them open, slammed them closed, then paged them open and slammed them closed. Again all very quickly.
"Alright class. Next is page 150. Go."
And they did. Open, close, open, slammed closed. And some giggles began.
"Next class, is page 25. Go."
The pages flew wide and slammed shut two times. Some three times. One book landed on the floor and the giggles became laughs.
"Quiet. Quiet class." She walked close to the front of the seats, then walked down the middle isle.
The group sat still.
"One more page. Then out to the lockers. But this time we will go very slowly to really stretch the pages. Go to page 175."
They did and slowly too. Open, close, open, close.
"Very good class. Quietly put your books away." She went back to her desk.
Fast the books slammed inside and they had their hands atop the desks waiting, staring at her back.
She took the small stack of names with the combination locker numbers from the instruction book and walked to the door. There she said, "When I call your name. You will slowly get this slip with your name, locker number and the combination. Then quietly walk out into the hallway and go to your locker. There you will wait in silence in front of your locker. After everyone is in the hallway in front of their lockers. I will tell you how to open them. We will then quietly, very quietly practice opening the combinations."
As she called each student, they came and took their pink slips. Then they found their way to their lockers. By the time she followed the last student out to the hall, many of the class had their doors open. Some kids were helping their friends to open theirs.
Ms Smyth called to her class, "Alright class. Quiet. Stand still. Face your lockers. Close them if they are open." She waited for the doors to stand shut. "Alright class. Put your hand on the center of the combination and turn it left until the number zero is at the top touching the little red mark.
Now class slowly turn the dial to the left all the way around. Make the zero go left all the way around, a complete circle. From the top to the bottom and then back to the top red mark. That is called one revolution. Next you will keep turning to the left slowly, but you will stop when the first number on the combination slip gets to the top red mark. All right, go."
When everyone appeared to be standing still, she continued, "Okay. You all have done the first number. Be still. To do the second number, you will turn to the right and keep turning to the right until the second number is at the top red mark. Alright go."
When everyone was standing still again she said, "That is the second number. Now stay still until I say go. To do the third number you will have to turn back to the left. You will turn slowly left until the third number gets to the top at the red mark. Okay go."
Soon a few of the doors snapped open.
"Wait. Stop. Class!"
When they stood still she said, "Next you will take the door handle and grasp it firmly." She paused, "Then you will push the handle up toward the ceiling and hold it up. Go."
The handles clinked.
"Alright class. Now pull the door open with a little muscle jerk outward. But be sure to stand back. Go."
Most of the doors flew open. Hopeful hands seeking forgotten treasure disappeared into the dark narrow lockers to feel the empty top shelf. But Jake the janitor had been busy all summer scouring clean every inch of every locker and had placed all the tiny forgotten things on the principal's desk for recording in his memoirs.
"Alright class. Quiet. We will do this again and again until everyone has it right. To close your locker doors, lift the handle and hold it up while you push the door flat closed. Go."
The handles slipped up, "Clink." And the doors fit snug-snap closed.
"Now push the handle down and the door is closed. Put your hand on the number dial and turn the dial to the right, past zero. Then keep turning until zero is at the top again. That locks the combination and sets it ready to open for the next time.
Alright class. Face your lockers to begin. Everyone turn the dial until the zero is at the top of the red mark. Go." She paused, "Now slowly turn the dial left, and stop when the first number gets to the top red mark." She paused looking over the line of students, "That is the first number done. To do the second number, turn to the right slowly. As soon as the second number is at the red mark, stop." She waited briefly, "That is the second number done. To do the third number, turn the dial to the left slowly until the third number is at the red mark."
She noted how calm they seemed, sort of serious, very little bumping, giggling or shoving. Most were using their right hands on the dial; a few left and it looked as if two had both hands on the dial.
Suddenly a boy cussed, "Damn the hell! Went past it. Now what, damn the hell."
She called to him, "That's okay. Just wait till we practice the next time. Alright class. Lift the handle. Hold it up and pull the door open."
Clink, clank, waffled open all the doors except three: the boy who cussed and the two Amanda M. girls, who were giggling and rubbing shoulders.
"Very good class. Let's all try it again. Close the doors slowly. Remember to hold the handle up until the door is flat closed, then push the handle down. And then turn the dial twice around zero to lock it. Go."
The hallway echoed all day with clanks and clinks and slams and foot kicks and occasional slurs and cuss words. Each hour a different class of kids learned how to open their personal private lockers. All of the young minds had grasp the concept by the end of the day.
The only trouble Ms Smyth had, were the lockers of the Amanda M. girls. And for the life of her, she could not get either locker to open. Finally she sent a boy after Jake the janitor. Who calmly strolled close to her and asked, "You need me?" with a wide grin.
She pointed at the Amanda M. girls, "I can not get those to open."
Jake the janitor stretched his hand, "Slips please."
He took one in each hand, looked at the number on the slip then at the lockers. Then grabbed each girl by the shoulder and pushed them from one locker to the other. Then handed each the appropriate locker slip. "Now try 'em."
The girls giggled and fast flipped the dials and popped the doors open. They turned to face him giggling, "Oh you are so smart. Thanks Jake."
Jake the janitor tipped his hat to them. His shoulder almost touching Ms Smyth, "They're just a little mixed up, 'at's all." Facing her, inches apart, "Ya call me when ya need, ya hear," and he grinned her.
Ms Smyth slowly edged back, "Well, ah. Jake, ah, thanks." Turning to her doorway she said, "Alright class, back inside." She looked back to watch Jake slowly stroll toward his work room.
Ms Smyth awoke from her memories of the second day giggling, "Those two girls are real pistols, he he. I'll have to keep an eye on them." She spent the next hour scanning each tape and jotting down notes. She then made a plan card for the next day's classes. Making a mental note to stay firm, stay calm, keep control, no questions.
She had made the mistake of letting 4A ask their questions before printing names in books. Nearly the entire hour was spent in idle chat, nonsense talk to amuse each other. Though during the class she felt she was doing the correct thing, giving them a chance to speak their minds. Showing them she cared, giving them the respect they deserved. But after watching the video of 4A, she saw how they were actually giggling behind their hands, passing notes around their backs and pinching and kicking on one side of the room. She realized they were just stalling, goofing off, wasting her time and theirs.
She reviewed how frantic those first classes were. Trying to get the simple task of names in books. She knew better by the time she got to 4B, her last class. Maybe they were tired and complacent, but the work went much smoother. She stayed in control from the moment the second bell rang. She hadn't gotten bogged by questions; she didn't allow any. She stayed in control.
She had control of 4B, "Alright class. Quiet! Quiet! We have work to do. Important work. When all the books have been named, when all the books have been broke-in, then you can ask your questions.
Alright class. Here's how we will do the class work. I will explain what and how the work is to be done. One step at a time. Then when I say 'now' or 'go', you will begin. If anyone has a question I will come to your desk." Yes she had control of that class. That work went smoothly. They talked some, made some noise getting the books, the pencils, but they stayed in their seats, threw nothing and got their assignments done. "Yes control is the key." She printed that word in red on the top of each card.
Tomorrow began her thesis experiments. Everything must be ready; there were no reruns or second takes. Her future depended on her professionalism. Each step must go correctly. Objective results depended on those videos being recorded accurately each day. She recharged the batteries and put an extra set in the satchel. The machine was brand new. All she had to do was be careful, turn it on, aim and put in a new tape each hour. Very simple. She packed her lunch and placed it on the table with the ready satchel. Then prepared for bed.
Day three
"Alright class. Quiet. Quiet please." Ms Smyth stood before her 3A class, her hands outstretched waving the voices to lower. The morning sunlight reflected shimmers of rainbow about her. The sun rays were splintered by the tiny strands of crystal woven into the hem, waist band and cuffs of her full length off-white dress. The glimmering reflections captured the class' attention long enough to quiet them.
She then continued, "For the next few weeks we will be learning, first hand, about the nature of work. The world of business, jobs, careers. The 9 to 5 grind, the treadmill you have heard your parents speak of.
Briefly, we work to stay alive. Plant and harvest food to eat. Make clothes for warmth. Shoes to protect your toes. Houses to keep warm and safe in. Cars and buses to ride in. Schools to learn in. All these things were made by your parents, your grandparents. That is what work is. Teachers, doctors, dentists, nurses, policemen, firemen, sales people, movie makers, actors. These are jobs, types of work called careers.
In the beginning, long long ago, the cave men and women and children had nothing. They were cold and frightened and hungry most of the time. They had to find fruit when it was ripe on the trees or a dead animal laying in the grass or they starved.
They didn't even have clothes."
The class giggled, turning and pointing and squirming in their desks.
"That's right class," raising her voice above theirs, "in the cold snow, in the cold rain they were naked and freezing. No houses, no fires. A few had caves to live in. Some of the adults had dead animal skins, fur coats to wear, but the little children were seldom so fortunate, many died."
The class shivered and moaned. Robbie B. in the last desk nearest the window feigned dying, sliding lifeless to the floor. And the nearby girls laughed at him.
"Alright you in the back, get up. That was a long time ago. People got smart. They learned to work together, learned how to control fire, learned how to cut trees to make houses. They learned how to make and use tools, spears to catch and kill animals for food and to use their skins for clothes and shoes. Yes, the shoes you wear today were cows walking about a pasture yesterday."
Many young faces leaned over looking at their feet, "Moo moo," filled the air.
"They learned how to plant food, corn, vegetables and fruit trees, wheat, beans. And most importantly how to preserve, how to store the food to last through the winter until the next harvest in the fall. They learned how to talk, to read, to communicate, to share ideas, to become friends, to understand each other from different parts of the world, to have peace, to live as friends with many people, to cooperate, to do work and to play together.
They learned how to divide work into teams, where each person would do only one part of a job. That ten people, each doing just one job and doing that job well, could get more work done and done quickly and correctly. That working as a team was better than working alone. For example, to build a house a crew of builders has: dirt diggers for the basement and water lines; cement pourers for the basement walls and driveways; carpenters to cut and hammer the boards; roofers to put on the roof; window installers; electricians to put in the wires and lights; plumbers to put in the water pipes, tub and sinks; painters to protect and color the wood; rug installers; phone installers; gas pipe installers; and furniture movers to put your things in it.
Under the direction of an efficient manager this kind of work crew can make one house in two weeks and by summer's end can have 8 or 10 houses done. But if each person tried to make a whole house alone it would take all year or longer and might not even get done. What happens when no one needs any more houses? The house building crew goes on unemployment. We will discuss that concept later in the year.
Division of labor, work crews, is how people in today's world get things done. Over the years from cave man days to now, many changes have occurred. And in this class, Business Today, we will be studying some of the history of the world of work and some of the problems in today's work world that you have heard about on the television news or overheard your parents speaking of at the supper table.
We will try to understand what unemployment is. What layoffs are. What a strike is. What a picket line is. Food stamps, unions, management bargaining, career development, retirement..."
Ms Smyth was rambling, walking back and forth from one side of the room to the other, quick staring at the ceiling for key phases, extra pieces of information. She would reach her hand into the air and grab an invisible thought and then the words would flow fluidly, right into the wide eyes and ears of her students.
But most were now near asleep or watching Jake the janitor as he starred in through the back window at Ms Smyth's dazzling shots of sun light, those rainbow streaks from the crystals. He had been froze in place while watching her lecture prance about the room. His window washer bucket of suds was in his left hand and the rubber squeegee was in his right while the bottom half of one window dulled in a thick soap scum.
She stopped to catch her breath, then went around to her desk and picked up her plan card and checked through number one. She looked over her class and noticed half of them starring at the window. She saw Jake the janitor looking at her.
Their eyes met.
She looked at the clock, then back at him.
Jake the janitor began to wipe the soap from the window. It's squeaking pulled the class's attention. And soon everyone was watching him wash the windows.
Ms Smyth got up from her desk and walked to the back window and looked down at Jake the janitor. He grinned at her. She pushed open the next window and bent down, her mouth stuck through the open crack, "Really. Must you do that now? You are distracting my class."
Jake the janitor stepped to her window and put his face aside hers, his mouth near touching hers. "Yes mame. Windows is on my list for today."
"Well if you must, but can't you do it quietly?" She mouthed back through the window crack.
"Yes mame," his eyes meeting hers, their heads both bent parallel at the window crack, "I can do it loud or quiet, anyways ya like it."
Ms Smyth leaned back, slowly standing erect. Then stared back at Jake the janitor, his head still cocked at the window. She grabbed the window handle and tugged it closed. Jake the janitor stood erect and swiped the squeegee across the now closed window. She quickly turned each window's blinds closed, blocking the bright sun and Jake the janitor.
Jake the janitor continued his washing and held his grin.
She turned to the class, looked at the blackboard, retrieved her plan card and took a piece of chalk to write in loud bold letters: WHY WORK. "Alright class. Remember to raise your hands. Why do people go to work?"
Many hands shot skyward.
"Alright class. We are looking for ten different answers." Pointing at the kids up front, found their answers on the board, "Money; have to; fun; mom makes ya; pay taxes; dad's job; like to; makes me happy; part of team; want to."
After each answer some hands went down and some new hands went up. Ms Smyth pointed, the child answered. She quick wrote on the board then quick turned to point at the next hand. Hands went down, new hands went up; within five minutes ten answers were on the board.
"Very good class. Now everyone will slowly, quietly take out your pad of paper and a pencil. Go."
Desks tops up, pads on lap, pencils on pads, tops back down, almost in unison the lids slammed closed and the pads and pencils flopped upon the desk.
"Alright class. Today, right now, we will begin to learn about the world of work. For the next few weeks I will pretend to be your boss, not your teacher. And you will be my employees, my workers."
Eyes glanced about, feet shuffled, soft mumbles began, little hands quickly raised.
"Wait class until I finish, then we'll take questions. We will call this part of the class, 'The Job'. And during The Job you will call me 'Sir Boss' and I will call you 'Worker'. You will write on the pads. My company makes and sells words on paper as decorations for prison cells. So each day you will write, print, on a piece of paper and turn the paper into me. I will then pay you money, actually a candy snack which represents money that people get for working.
Alright class. There are a few minutes left. Please copy the list of ten reasons for work from the blackboard onto your paper," she pointed to the board and gestured writing.
The class quickly began printing, copying the list of work reasons.
She went down one isle, then returned to her desk. She looked at the clock, "Alright class. Hand your papers forward to the front desk, where I will collect them." She took the candy box from her desk and went to the first desk of the first row.
Little hands went up and a few voices protested, "Not done teacher, boss, sir boss. I'm not done. Me either. Not done, a couple more."
"Quiet workers. It's okay. The papers don't have to be full. That will be enough for today. Hand them forward quickly." She then exchanged the stack of paper work from the front seat person for a small plastic wrapped caramel candy, one per student, 20 candies. "That's the money, the pay for today's work. The Job is now done. Now you are students and can not eat until lunch time or after school."
The first bell rang.
"Put your pads and pencils away."
The desk tops raised and pads and pencils disappeared and so did many pieces of candy into wet mouths.
The distinctive crumple of plastic wrapping caught Ms Smyth's ears. She repeated her warning, "Do not eat in the classroom. Eat in the lunchroom. See you tomorrow."
The class bolted from their desks, pushing, shoving and bumping their bodies into two lines, squeezing into the noise filled hallway.
Ms Smyth gathered her things from atop the tall book shelf. She changed the tape to 3A and then crossed the busy hallway for next hour.
As she turned from the tall book shelf her corner vision caught Jake the janitor's motion at the back window. She kept to herself and feigned not noticing as he began swiping soap suds across the lower row of windows. She took out her plan card for this class and closed her eyes briefly. Taking in a deep breath she tried to collect her thoughts as the shoes shuffled in. Her ear just catching the words, "Candy, real candy, neat and cool." She opened her eyes just in time to wave back eager eyes with wide mouths open as birds waitin' mother's worms.
"Take your seats. Please take your seats!" Ms Smyth slammed her heal to the floor. Then she thought, "It's only day three. It'll take a while to set the pattern up. Stay calm, calm. Control is the key."
Half the class had returned to their seats before the bell, but that was all.
The second bell rang.
She looked at the doorway to see three boys wedged, blocking the entrance. She quicked to them, looking over their heads found the rest of her class jammed against them, giggling and mumbling, "Out of the way you fats. Get in. You're in trouble city. Let us in."
"Boys. Stop it! Let them in. Take your seats!" she slammed her heal to the floor.
But they couldn't break free. They'd angled themselves such that they could not squeeze in further.
She tried to pull the center boy's shoulders forward, but nearly broke a fingernail in him. He squealed at the gouge her long hard nail made through his shirt. "Quiet. Quiet. You girls quiet! Back. Back. Get back!"
But they weren't listening, only frantic pushing at the boys in the doorway to get in.
She leaned her hip against the shoulders of two boys and slow pushed toward the hallway while saying, "Back. Back. Back into the hallway. Back. Back you girls!" louder and louder. Suddenly the whole group caught hold of her voice and quick shifted their force toward the hallway. Whereupon, she fell forward taking two boys with her. They landed atop some of the girls and boys that were pushing in. Most side stepped out of the way.
The kids began sitting up, asking, "Ms Smyth, are you okay?" Others began slipping into class and sat down hoping to not be remembered or noticed.
A couple of kids lay on the floor crying. A large set of hands picked up a crier and brushed back his tears with a handkerchief. "Let's see here. Any cuts or blood? No. Any scratches? No. Can ya stand up? Yes. Okay back in ya go. The nurse got no time for fakers."
The other boy quieted and shook his hands, "I'm okay Jake. Just a bump. I'm okay."
Ms Smyth looked up at Jake the janitor and he down at her, "Can ya stand?"
She got to her feet with a hand in his. "Yes. Just a bump. I'm okay Jake."
"Good. I got windows to do today." He smiled and turned away. And she watched him turn and stroll back outside.
She straightened her dress and whisk the dust off. The class quieted as she entered the room. She stopped beside one of the wedged boys. Pointed her finger and began to lecture him. She stopped after one word, "You..." She then took her place behind the large drawerless desk. Facing the class she apologized, "Class. I am truly sorry. I have made an err. For three days I have watched you all jam yourselves in and out of that door after the bell. And I did nothing. And today someone could have been terribly hurt. Luckily no one was." She walked over to the window. She walked back to her desk. She picked up her instructor's handbook and paged through it, stopping at the instructions for a fire drill.
"Alright class. Here is what we, you all are going to do from now on. Every time you leave this room it will be as if we were having a fire drill. When the first bell rings you will put your books away. I will stand in front of each row and when everyone is ready, I will raise my hand up. That row will stand up and slowly line up against the wall, stopping beside the door.
I will then go to the second row," and she stepped over in front of the second row. "I will give the rise signal and everyone will get out of their desks and slowly line up behind the first row. Then the third row will follow, then the forth. Each waiting for me to stand in front and give the rise signal. That is how the fire drill is done and that is how you will leave my class each day.
Alright class. Let's practice getting out of our desks and lining up at the door." Ms Smyth stood at the head of row one and raised her hand. They stood and slowly walked to the door. She went to the second row and raised her hand. They too stood up and slowly lined up behind row one. Then she did row three, which had some bumping and pushing before clearing through the desks.
At row four she addressed the class, "Alright class. Row three had some problems. There is no reason for pushing. You will stand up beside the desk, then slowly walk. If the person in front of you is not walking yet, you simply will wait. You will stand and wait till the line begins to move. No shoving at all. Okay row four, let's see how you do," and she raised her hand.
Row four proceeded slowly without incident.
"Very good class. Return to your seats. Slowly, go."
The long line of twenty third graders in their matching blue and black checked uniforms turned around. Then slowly walked in line to their row isle, turned in and filed past the desks till reaching the correct seat. Then each child quick turn/slid down to sit.
After the last chair was filled, Ms Smyth continued, "Very well done class. That is how you will leave this room. We will practice that one more time. After everyone is in line, I will lead you out into the hallway. You will then line up against the lockers. The last student," and she pointed to Milli R. "will be the first to line up at the door. You each will line up at the lockers by the people who sit in front and in back of you. So look around, get to know your neighbor's faces. And then line up correctly against the lockers when the first bell begins. By the sound of the second bell everyone should be in line. I will then motion you all to enter the class. Alright class. Let's begin another fire drill."
She stood before each row.
They in turn stood and slowly, orderly got in line against the wall before the door.
She went then to the door and stood out in the hallway. She motioned them forward and directed them against the lockers. When the last one stood in the hallway, she quieted the class. "Alright class. Quiet. Look at your neighbor, you will line up like this after the first bell. Do not block the people from getting in or out of their lockers. In fact everyone step away from the lockers one giant step."
The group slid sideways like a long worm on a wet slope.
"Fine class. That is how you will line up before the second bell rings." Then she gestured them back into the classroom.
After the kids were settled in their seats, she glanced at the clock.
She then addressed the class, "Alright class. This is Business Today." She repeated the brief history of work speech she had given the first hour. Again asking the class the why work question, putting their answers on the board in large bold letters. She completed the list of ten answers by adding the last four herself. She explained how she was to be The Boss for the next few weeks. Then got them to quick copy the board onto their pads for the remaining ten minutes. With two minutes remaining she collected the work and gave each a candy caramel.
The first bell rang.
The pads and pencils disappeared under soft slams and muffled plastic wrappers. She then lined up each row and dismissed the class. They filed slowly into the noisy hallway.
At her desk she left a hasty note for the next teacher, "I have taught the class to leave and enter the room by the fire drill procedure. Very effective, very quiet and orderly. Please consider its use for your hour." She hurried to the tall book shelf and nearly knocked the video satchel to the floor, just catching it mid-air. At her desk she reached inside, changed tapes and checked the running button. The indicator lights reflecting its operative condition.
She hurried along the hallway, smiling and nodding approval as her class lined against the lockers. The rest of her day proceeded with the brief work history, ‘The Job’ and the giving of the caramel candy as pay.
The fourth grade class of paper airplane throwers left their wrappers about the floor.
And the fifth graders nodded to each other and soft spoke, "Cool candy, alright boss."
Back in her front room that evening she jotted notes on each class as their video played. Ms Smyth caught glimpses of him doing the windows, peering in at her each hour, something she had not seen during the day. She remembered him helping her from the floor. And how they nearly touched lips when speaking through the window. She crossed her legs and fidgeted, "I've no time for men just now. Besides, he's a janitor. Probably married with a half dozen rug rats." She shook her head and brought her mind from memory to video.
After reviewing six tapes she was tired, but picked up the instruction book and paged to the next day's agenda: Friday after school teachers' session. She'd hoped to have had the chance to meet some of the other teachers in the lunch room or after school, but the first days were just so busy. She'd gone to the teacher's lunchroom on Thursday, but no one was there. She closed the books and her eyes.
Day four
She awoke at dawn, surprised, but feeling better. She took a long hot shower then drove to a coffee shop for a treat of donuts and chocolate milk.
As she finished the second glaze, a tap on her shoulder with a deep husky sound, "Good morning Ms Smyth," took her to look into a shinny belt buckle bearing a skull and crossbones. Her gaze shifted from the man's waist up to his familiar face, "Oh. It's you. Ah, well, ah good morning."
Jake put his cup on the table opposite her and slid into the empty chair. "Saw ya come in. So I stopped. Okay to join ya?" tipping his Pirates baseball cap and bearing a wide grin.
"Ah, well," glancing quick at her Micky Mouse wrist watch, "Yes you may. Ah, but, I really have to go very soon. Lots to do before class," speaking softly.
"Yea I know. Me too. Sort of surprised to see ya uptown this close to starting. Ya do donuts, do ya?" He took a large gulp of the black coffee.
She finished swallowing and washed the sugar from her mouth with the last of the chocolate milk. Dabbed her lips dry with the small paper napkin, "No. Not usually. I awoke early and had this impulse to treat myself," smiling warmly. She relaxed seeing him casually sip; his dark eyes looking from his coffee to her.
He sat his empty cup down, "Well no time for seconds. Them kids really can rile ya. I seen ya with 'em. Ya real good. Got a nice way with 'em. It'll get easier more'n they gets used to ya. Any them older boys give ya a hard time, just let me know, I'll set 'em square for ya." He tipped his hat and slipped a fifty cent piece aside the cup from a hidden vest pocket. From the other pocket he extracted a thin round watch, "Fifteen minutes till bell. We'd better go."
"Ah, yes, right." She got up after him.
At the door he pushed it open and held it open for her.
She smiled at his eyes and half trot to her car parked across the street. She was behind the wheel and had the engine running when she glanced up to see Jake disappear around the corner on a bicycle with large saddle bags. The school was less than a mile and she was sure she would catch him, but with stopping at three signs and waiting for the late kids to cross, she didn't see him again. She parked in the back lot and hurried to her desk. She placed the video satchel just as the first bell rang.
Friday's classes went as planned. Each of the six groups read aloud from the Business Today text for 40 minutes. Then they copied the review questions at the chapter end for ten minutes. She collected the pages as employees' work and gave each student a caramel candy. Their eager eyes and sweet grins cued Ms Smyth that the reward technique was catching hold. She could hardly wait for next week.
School was over, the students gone home on buses and with parents. The hallways were silent as the staff of teachers walked toward the principal's office. He greeted them at the door, grinning, "One week down and thirty two to go." The older ladies gave a small laugh at his traditional end-of-the-first-week greeting. "Do come in, coffee or tea on the tray. Help yourself." He wove through the wooden fold-out chairs and stood behind his desk while each prepared herself a hot drink. When everyone had taken a seat, he nodded, pulled his overstuffed roller chair forward and sat. He raised his cup, "May we keep our heads on straight." He grinned.
And again the older ladies laughed slightly, taking a sip in unison. Mrs. Belts and Ms Smyth cracked a brief smile, each realizing their boss's humor attempt.
"Well ladies here we are again at the start of another year," extending his open hands in a greeting gesture, "A large heartfelt welcome to our two newest. Mrs. Belts comes to us from Chicago, a fifth year art teacher. A professional who will have these kids ready for middle school in no time." He nodded his head and pointed to her.
Mrs. Belts half rose from her chair and addressed the group, "I'm looking forward to my work here and allow me to say we truly intend settling here."
"Yes, yes. I'm sure you will. This is such a wonderful area. The people here are honest, hard workers and are committed to their children's education. The parents know fully that the successful child got his start at the elementary level. Next allow me to introduce Ms Smyth. Although she is fresh to the field of education, she comes to us highly recommended with top honors in her field of Business. I'm looking forward to the integration of her innovative techniques." The principal extended his open palm to her.
Ms Smyth stood up, nodding and smiling at each member, "Thank you sir. I look forward to sharing my ideas with the staff. And I hope you all will support me in my fire drill approach to leaving and entering the class room."
Mrs. Trowler leaned forward, looking past the other teachers separating her from her advocate, "Is that why the 3B's are lining up against the lockers?"
"Yes," Ms Smyth proudly beamed.
"Well dearie. I don't like it. Don't like it at all. Two fights already. Pushing and shoving, blocking some of the fourth graders from their lockers," Mrs. Trowler protested.
"Oh. I didn't know. I told them to stand clear of the lockers. It works leaving the classroom. They line up against the door nice and quiet, very orderly," Ms Smyth defended.
"Yes. Yes. They are suppose to leave that way. That is how we have been teaching them to leave the classroom for years." Mrs. Trowler took a sip of tea while the other ladies nodded, "Yes. For years."
"Well no one told me," Ms Smyth pouted. "They were crashing into each other like a cattle stampede until I began doing the fire drill."
"Didn't you read your Elementary School Teacher Orientation booklet? It's on the second or third page," the gray hair of Miss Jones interjected.
"Well, ah, I read so much material. There was just so much to do. I just got in my house the day before school began. Well I'm not sure I recall reading that," Ms Smyth drifted back into her memories.
Mrs. Jones continued, "Well I did happen to see them pushing by the lockers at that end, but I was to far away to do anything. Then the bell rang. So that's the reason," looking at her aged companion.
Mrs. Trowler nodding her support, "Yes Mable, that's what happened. Those nasty fourths find any reason to start trouble and they will. We have to put a stop to this hallway line up right now before a brawl begins."
"I do concur. So do I. Me too," the staff enjoined.
Ms Smyth raised her hand and apologized to the group, promising to correct her mistake first off Monday morning.
The group sat quiet, looking at the principal.
He was jotting furiously into a large spiral bound booklet. After a few moments, he sat his yellow #2 pencil down. Looked at the quiet group of teachers before him, glanced at his wristwatch, then dismissed the meeting. "Well ladies, I think we are going to do just fine. Just fine this year. Are there any other ideas, comments or suggestions?"
With the nodding negatives, he concluded, "Then this first session is over. See you all same time, same place next Friday. Have a nice week."
The ladies got up, lined out, leaving their cups and saucers on the large oval desk. They tramped through the empty hallway disappearing each into their homerooms.
The principal scribbled a few more notes then slid the book into the top drawer of his large oval desk. Afterwards he carefully put the cups and saucers on a tray and carried them to the cafeteria before leaving for the day.
Ms Smyth unlocked her classroom door. Gathered her video satchel and purse, re-locked her classroom door then left out the back door. She was nearly home when she saw her empty driveway. She stopped. Paused in thought, then trod wearily to the front door, "Tomorrow. Get the car tomorrow."
Inside, she put her satchel by the video player, inserted the first tape and sat back on the couch. She dozed off to sleep before the first tape ended. Awakening around midnight, she stumbled to the bathroom. Then went into the kitchen for a peanut butter and plum jam sandwich. A cold glass of butter milk washed the sticky sweet from her teeth. She then returned to the video machine and inserted the second hour tape and again fell asleep.
Saturday morning found her awake at dawn. After a breakfast of pecan waffles and cocoa, she returned to her videos, where she sat watching and remembering parts of the week. After lunch she put on her sweat suit and jogged over to the school parking lot to retrieve her car. Thereafter she surprised herself and went to the cafe for donuts. She looked anxiously at all the customers and the passersby on the street. Who she was looking for, was not to be seen so she left with a dozen glaze boxed fresh on the seat beside her. A few shoppers gazed into the display windows as she passed along the long business street, but she saw no one she recognized.
As she offed the engine in her driveway, she realized, "I'm looking for him, for Jake. Oh my. It's too soon for this. I've no time. The thesis comes first." She took a deep breath, resolved to block everything except the work. But two hours later she was back in the car and again glancing at the passersby along Main Street. At the donut shop she parked in an empty place near the front door. Engine running she stared at her empty passenger seat. Finally she offed the engine and entered.
She ordered a cup of coffee and found a seat by the large window. The cafe had one old woman sitting at the counter chatting incessantly to a young girl at the cash register. Ms Smyth sipped cup after cup, ever glancing at the sidewalk, at the many teens bicycling their Saturday afternoon away. At five o'clock the cafe closed so she took a long walk along the main street, distracting her thoughts by the many curios displayed. When she got back to her car, she had a plan. She drove north to Chicago to visit with her mother. And didn't return until late Sunday night.
Day five
Monday morning she nearly overslept and had to drive to the school to make the first bell. She opened the satchel on her desk to slip the first tape in and oned the recorder buttons. The students began streaming in, but were too busy chatting of their weekends to observe her. She took a deep breath, then put the video satchel atop the tall bookshelf. She smiled at the lens then turned to greet her class. "Good morning class. Quiet please. It's time to return to Business Today. Roll call." She took her seat, looking at the seating chart taped to the desk corner, then at the students, all chairs full.
The overhead speaker crackled on. The principal announced the day's menu and gave a short talk on the safety of walking and talking, not screaming and shoving inside the school.
Ms Smyth took the lunch count and set the slip on the door clip for the office worker's collection. She returned to her desk without looking at the students, then faced the class. "Alright class. Today we begin reading aloud in the Business Today text.
Each student will read one paragraph aloud. We will begin on page ten, Chapter One. Mary G. in the first seat, first row will begin and then the rest in her row will take a turn. Then Harvey K. in the second row, first seat will begin reading, then the rest of his row will take their turn. When that row is complete, the third row and then the fourth row. That is the reading aloud pattern we will follow for the entire year. Alright Mary please begin."
For the next 35 minutes, one by one the students took their turn reading aloud. Most of their voices were so soft she could barely tell when they had finished. But she did not interrupt, not even for mispronunciations. Only twice did the next student not realize their turn and that the class was staring at them. They ended up being poked by a neighbor, "Come on it's your turn." Even Ms Smyth drifted off from the work at hand, her thoughts returning to the coffee shop. During the long drive to her mother's she had realized that reviewing the video tapes had helped her plan cards for she found that more and more of the students were enjoying their turn reading aloud.
At the end of reading time, she informed the class, "Alright class. Class time is done. It is now time for ‘The Job’. Get out your pads and pencils for the next work assignment." When everyone sat quietly looking back at her, she continued, "The company received fewer orders for our work yesterday. So today we won't need all of the employees. Two workers will be laid-off. That means two of you will not be turning in your coping questions work for pay. Everyone will still do the copying as part of Business Today learning. In this job exercise two of you will not get any money, candy. Are there any questions?"
Many hands raised.
She waved their hands down, "Alright class. Let me explain after ‘The Job’. I think you all will see what I mean after we do the exercise of job lay-off." She went to the blackboard and printed JOB LAYOFF. Then back at her desk she glanced at the seating chart and randomly called out two names. "Darci M. and Bobby T. You two are the job lay-offs for today."
Both kids began to put their books away, desk tops raising.
"No. No. Keep your books out," she instructed.
They closed their desks, glancing perplexed at their friends.
"Listen class. Everyone. I repeat, everyone copy the review questions, 5 through 10 at the end of Chapter one. You have eight minutes, begin," she stood looming over the class.
Bobby T. sat still.
"Bobby T. and Darci M. You two copy the questions with the rest of the class," smiling and nodding yes at them.
Soon the entire group was busy copying onto their pads.
At the end of the eight minutes, she stood at the front of row one, "Alright class stop. Bobby and Darci keep your papers. Everyone else hand your work forward." She placed their papers on a shelf marked ‘The Job’. Then passed out the candy. "One candy for everyone except Bobby T. and Darci M. You two were laid-off. So you did no work for the company and therefore get no pay." She walked to each and took their copying work, "This copying work you did for school, for me, your Business Today teacher." She took their papers and put them on a shelf marked School.
When she turned around, Darci had her hand up.
"Yes Darci, you have a question?"
"Yes boss sir. Why was I laid-off today? I do good work," her lips turned in pouting.
Ms Smyth smiled, "That's a very good question Darci. A very difficult question that has many different answers." She went to the blackboard and printed: SENIORITY. "That means that the employees that have been working at the company for the longest time, get to stay working. The newest hired people get laid-off first."
Darci raised her hand, "But we all started school on the same day last week."
Ms Smyth smiled, "Yes, that's true, but for this job exercise you each got hired at a different time. You didn't all walk into the room at the same time, did you? You came in one at a time. And so the people who came in first would be like being hired first. Understand?"
Bobby called out, "But teacher. I was the first one in here last week. I remember 'cause I wanted to get a seat by this window."
Suddenly a burst of whinny voices blasted, "No you weren't. I was. You were last. Yea last. I ‘member you came in after the bell."
Ms Smyth waved her hands to quiet the class, but only the sound of the first bell calmed them. And their books and pads and pencils disappeared.
She walked to the first row and raised her hand and the lines against the wall began. She could hear the, "Who was in first," rage continue out into the hall as she hurried to gather her things for 3A across the hall.
The second third grade class reacted to SENIORITY the same as her first third graders. Another memory debate raged long onto the playground and continued on the walk home.
While the fourth graders got hung-up on, "Who was the oldest should get to be the workers and should get the candy." And they went into the hallway arguing over age and demands of ID checks and, "Bring your birth certificate tomorrow."
The sophisticated fifth graders added their comments after she selected the laid-offers. Four hands raised, "Ms Smyth, I would like to be laid-off today. Yes mame, me too," as did the other two.
"Why?" her curiosity pressed.
"I don't feel like working today. Stomach upset," eyes rolling and hands holding an expanded belly.
"I hurt my writing finger playing ball yesterday," the curly blonde hair frowned as she held a crooked index digit.
"Candy is bad for my teeth," a wide smile showed.
"I always wanted to be a martyr," Joan beamed.
Ms Smyth feigned with, "But I've already selected the two to be laid-off by a valid criterion: SENIORITY."
The four raised their hands again, "But we want..."
"Quiet. I'm the boss here. And I pick who gets laid-off and who doesn't. That's what working for a company is," Ms Smyth slammed her fist upon her desk top.
A single hand slowly raised.
"Yes Mary," looking at the seating chart.
"As a worker, an employee, do I have the right to quit a job I don't like?" her voice trembled weakly.
"Yes Mary. In America the employee does have that right and many more. A very good question. And we will be discussing that issue as the year progresses. But as students, you can not quit. How would you learn if you didn't participate? Alright class. Let's continue."
Ms Smyth had quite a laugh at that video. The fifth graders were pretty sharp. It would be quite a challenge to stay ahead of them. She closed her notebook and offed the video player. Then filled the satchel with tomorrow's blank tapes and charged batteries. A light snack of cheese crackers and milk, the bathroom bedtime procedure, the lights off and under the sheets to rest ended her day.
Day six
Dawn found its self awakening her much too early again. "But better early than late like yesterday," her tiny voice reminded her. And with time to spare, a donut and a coffee sounded like a good way to begin such a nice looking September morning. The chair remained empty opposite her coffee cup. And another day came and went without seeing Jake.
After school, watching the last bus pull away, she gave a long thought to wander into his work office at the far end of the gymnasium. But after her first step, she was side tracked by Mrs. Trowler's harold. "You there. You boys. Come out of that bathroom this very minute. You come out or in I come."
As Ms Smyth neared her, two forth graders came out into the hallway.
"What's all that racket in there? You break something?" Mrs. Trowler's accusing eye and wobbly fingers reached forth.
The boys ducked and bolted passed her, screaming a loud, "Ahhhhhh. The troll, the troll's after us!" They darted passed the admin office and were outside running and punching each other's arm, laugh screeching, "The troll. The old troll. Ahhhhh."
The gray haired Mrs. Trowler caught glimpse of Ms Smyth and smiled, "Two more years and I'm history. Just two more. Should have taken early retirement. Mrs. Lock and I both could have. Thought we'd like to work a little longer. Who would know. Who could know these wild ones would be here. No respect. None at all for their elders or their teachers. And from the stories I hear at Wednesday Bingo, they are worse on their parents." She shook her head and smiled. "Might as well go on in and see what damage the little hellions did."
Inside the open doorway, the wall turned back to the left, blocking eye view. Scattered on the floor were the hundreds of wadded up paper towels the day had used.
Mrs. Trowler went to the tall upturned metal wastebasket in the corner and pulled it toward her. A sudden howl from within caused her to yip and clutch her chest and yippy back, "Who's in there? Who's under that waste basket?" Her wobbly hand pointed. Then she stepped forward and gave the side of the basket a kick.
A muffled voice sounded.
"Come out of there. Right now!" she kicked it again.
And again a muffled voice.
Ms Smyth was holding her laughter behind her hands, watching when Jake sauntered past them. He grabbed the top of the basket and slowly pulled it up. Underneath, wrapped round and round with thin toilet paper, small mummy eyes stared helplessly at them.
Mrs. Trowler muttered, "Oh my word!"
Jake carefully pulled the layers from the boys' mouth, asking him soothing, "Ya okay son?"
The boy's wide eyes calmed and he nodded yes.
Jake bent down and began tearing the paper free. A few minutes later the boy was running homeward. Ms Smyth waited till the boy was gone, then burst into laughter.
Jake smiled some, "They used to 'tp' houses, now it's each other."
Mrs. Trowler left, shaking her head, "Two more years. Only two more years."
After she left Ms Smyth calmed and ask, "I heard you call him son. That your boy?"
"Na. I call 'em all that. Boy or son. It's like they all mine for a while. It's as much being a dad as I got," his voice became soft and he smiled.
Their eyes met and held a place.
He turned back to the mess, "Best I git the broom to this." He walked past her to leave.
She reached out and grabbed his arm. "I looked for you this morning."
He turned to face her, "I was a little late getting here. Did ya leave a note on the desk? Didn't see one. What ya need?" leaning toward her.
"No. Not here. At the donut shop. I thought you might stop in," her lips pursed, her eyes brightening wide.
"Oh. At the coffee place. I usually make my own. Got a large thermos," sliding his hands into his pockets.
They stood silent a long while.
He turned and left.
She finally did too, returning to her room at the other end of the building. She gathered her things and left.
She was halfway across the parking lot when the squeal of girls sliding caught her attention. She paused to watch them whisk atop each other, crashing onto the wood chips. Only to quick up and race back to the ladder to go down it again and again. A dangerous game, she thought. Started toward them until she remembered her own years of racing and sliding, only the pain could teach them. She saw her car and veered to it. Got inside and left.
At home, the routine began. View tapes, make notes; though there wasn't much to say. "The next day should begin some noteworthy results," she said to the VCR. She made supper, a warmed up a TV-dinner. Finished the tapes then made the satchel ready for the morrow. A bed time snack, the bathroom routine and then the cool sheets. But sleep took a long while, for the memory of Jake in the bathroom kept playing before her closed eyes.
Day seven
In the morning she almost got in her car, "A donut would be nice." Looking at her wristwatch she declined, muttering, "He makes his own coffee. Yea a large thermos." So she walked across the field to school.
During lunch, sitting at the top rung of the pyramid bars, Peter and Paul of 5A were in a heated discussion. "Look. I know from where I speak. My sister is in college" Paul's legs wrapped around a rung, his head upside down.
Peter refuted, "So what. That doesn't make it so."
"Look. We are just like laboratory rats in an experiment," Paul continued while swinging around to right himself on the bar.
"Whose experiment?" Mary called, popping through to the top level.
"My sister is in psychology. They put rats in mazes. They watch them. They experiment with them. They give them food when they do it right," Paul told her.
"Live rats?" Mary swung out on one foot, putting her other foot on a boy's head, "Not live ugly, hairy rats."
"Look. I haven't seen them, mind you. My sister says they climb walls, crawl through tunnels and get cheese if they beat the clock," Paul pulled himself around to face Peter. "Tick tick tick tick tick tick," he chirped and waved his finger back and forth.
Peter grabbed Mary's hand and pulled her toward him, "Tell him Mary. We are humans. Not rats. I think Ms Smyth is being nice."
Mary climbed around to rest with one leg straddling over a top bar, then latched her foot secure, "She's not too bad, not yet anyway. This is only the second week."
"Look. My sister says it's the cheese that gets them rats to do the experiment. Cheese or candy. It's all the same thing. Don't you get it? The candy is the cheese. We are her rats." Paul took a caramel from his pocket and unwrapped it. Then he held it high, "Here you go little rats," and waved it in front of Peter, then over to Mary.
She quick reached for it, "Squeak, squeak."
Paul popped the caramel into his mouth, letting the plastic wrapper float through the bars below. It landed on Betty of 3B, sitting on the wood chips in the middle of the pyramid.
Betty looked up and hollered, "What's up doc?"
Peter and Mary looked at Paul chomping the goo, they looked down at Betty and in unison, "Cheese," they giggled.
Betty stood up, put the wrapper in her skirt pocket and quick climbed the bars. She stopped on the row below Paul, "It's not cheese. This is a caramel wrapper. You got any more? I got money."
Paul shook his head no.
Mary climbed down to Betty's level, "How much money?"
"A nickel in my locker," Betty smiled at her.
Peter interceded, "A whole nickel for one lousy caramel?"
Betty pulled her head up through the top bars, "I didn't get one today. I was laid-off."
"Your class gets candy too?" Paul leaned closer to her, lowering his voice.
"Yes for copying questions in the business book for Ms Smyth. At first everyone got one. Then she started something called laid-off. And I got laid-off today, so no candy. And I want one," Betty confessed.
"Look! Just goes to show. Like my sister said," Paul slurred, "Rats!"
"It's no experiment. She's just nice," Peter sat up in defense. "We're not rats."
Mary tapped Betty's shoulder, "What grade you in?"
Betty turned to face her, "3B. This is my first year here. Ms Smyth is my homeroom teacher."
"That's nice. What about her other classes? Are they getting candy too?" Paul eagerly asked.
"Yea. 3A is. Linda is my bestest friend, lives across the street from me. She is in 3A," Betty grinned.
Peter paused, "Well. Billy Minch is on my soccer team. He's in 5B. They get caramels from her too."
Paul added, "And my little sister is in 4B. She got laid-off yesterday. And is still upset about it."
Betty from 3B turned to face Peter, "Look. I got a nickel. Do you have a caramel?"
The first bell rang so the group quickly climbed down and ran inside.
Betty kept tugging on Peter's shirt, yelling, "Nickel, nickel. I got a nickel."
Peter finally turned at her and grabbed her shoulders, "Leave off girl. I ate mine."
As Paul sat at his desk, he made a careful watch of Ms Smyth's hands deep within her big satchel. He kept his observations keen as she carefully placed the big bag on the top shelf. And then how she scooted it around as if aiming it at him. He squinted when a sun reflection shot from the middle of the satchel. He reached over, tugging Mary's shoulder, "Did you see that?"
She reflexed a back-hand swing at him, "What?"
He pointed at the tall bookshelf, whispering, "Sun. Sun reflection."
The second bell rang, bringing the whole class to silence.
Meanwhile across the hall, the fourth graders of 4B were wound-up tight. Still energetic from lunch running, they kept pushing each other and sliding their desks long after the second bell. As her practice of twenty seven years, Mrs. Trowler sat quiet at her desk, preparing herself for the next hour's lecture. It was after lunch, the class always took longer to settle after lunch. As the years took their toil, "Close the door and give 'em an extra minute", changed to two minutes, then expanded to five minutes. Finally, an extra ten minutes break lapsed to, "Let 'em wear themselves out." And that policy worked fine until this year's 4B, where the Turner triplets were being schooled.
Luke, Geramy and Tyron Turner had spent the summer at their ancient Aunt Ruth's farm where, as identicals, they found themselves the cause of much confusion and chaotic humor. By the end of the summer they returned to the city wild, woolly, rowdy and ready for more fun. But at home their two hundred-pound father sat them quiet. When they went to school they found another ancient female, Mrs. Trowler. So they went back to their summer wildness.
Their favorite summer prank had fallen upon the town librarian, the drugstore clerk and the fat deputy sheriff of the tiny village an hour's walk from their Aunt Ruth's farm. On Saturday afternoons all dressed alike; two of the boys would go into the library and check out books, making a point to speak often to the matronly clerk. While the third triplet went to the drugstore, where he bumped into the candy boxes, knocking down hundreds of bars from both sides of the isle. He kicked the candy along the floor and onto the street, squealing and wailing down the sidewalk. He ran to the library where the first two triplets met their brother at the door hallway. They grabbed hands and spun around in a circle many times. Then they all went to the stack of books the two had set on the floor within eye view of the matronly librarian.
The first Saturday of the summer, the drugstore clerk just watched the red and blue stripped tee shirt boy run out the door. The second Saturday, the clerk followed the boy out the door and watched him run down the sidewalk and disappear around the corner. But on the third Saturday, the clerk followed the red headed boy along the sidewalk. The clerk had just enough wind left to round the corner and spotted the red and blue stripped tee-shirt enter the library.
The clerk went in the library. On the floor sat three red headed boys in red and blue tee shirts. Well one of them was guilty, of that the clerk was sure. So he grabbed the closest boy by the shoulder and pulled him up to his feet. "Boy you goin' to jail. Rite now!"
"Me? What? Help! Help! Let go you masher," Luke protested.
Geramy and Tyron jumped up and began kicking the clerk's shin, "Let go our brother. Help. Help."
The librarian yelled, "Quiet!" and shook a large, brass bell. The ringing caught the boy's attention and they stood still.
The drugstore clerk grabbed another boy by the ear lobe. He limped them over to the librarian's desk and hollered for the phone, "Call the sheriff!"
Siren screams rebounded off storefront windows and disappeared into their open doors, bringing shop keepers out to the sidewalk and causing window shoppers to pause and gawk. The deputy bounced the front wheels over the curb, sliding onto the lawn before stopping. He hopped out of his patrol car, the siren still screeching. Then trot to the front doors, his official police revolver held high above his head. He quick slammed his self against the inside wall; his pistol now aimed at the drugstore clerk.
A boy's ear in each hand, the clerk hollered, "Put that thang away! These here only boys."
The deputy looked at the boys, at the librarian nodding affirmation, at his car on the lawn then quick slipped the gun back in its holster, snapping down the protective flap. He then double stepped up to the desk, "What's the deal? Yous said yous collared the gangsters what robbed the store."
"I said, 'They what ruined my store, hows they ganged up, but I had 'em by the collar. See. There's three of 'em. Ohwee!" loud and animated the clerk faced the deputy.
Just then one of the triplets kicked his shin again, "Let go. I aign't no gangster. I'm a kid. I been here readin' books," looking to the librarian, "aign't it so mame?"
"Well sheriff, seems like they been here a long while. But only two of 'em. One of you boys just got here." The librarian pointed at Luke, "You. Ah, no, it was you," pointing at Tyron. Then, "Well maybe it was you. They look so alike, I can't be positive," her hands aside her cheeks.
At once all three boys began whimpering defenses, "Not me. I been here. I'm reading Ben Hur."
The librarian rang the bell again and the boys quieted.
"One these here boys tore thru my store, knockin' candy everywhere. I followed him to here." Pulling one ear, "Was it you?"
"Ohweee, not me."
Then yanking the other boy's ear, "Then maybe you!"
"Eyohowee. Not me! I been reading."
"Stop it!" the deputy called. "Okay. I got the picture. Two of yous boys waz here reading. That right Mabel?"
The librarian nodded yes. Pointing at one, then the other, then the other, "That one, those two, no those two. That one?"
The deputy quieted her, "I'll figure it." He went before the third boy by the books, "What's yous name?"
"Tyron, sir," he grinned innocently.
"Waz it yous at the drugstore?" his finger against his nose.
"No sir. I was reading Ben Hur," and he pointed at the open book on the floor.
"Well then it waz one of yous brothers. Which one?" And he grabbed Tyron by the ear, "Now talk. Which one tore up that store?" putting his face near the boy.
Tyron squirmed and yelled, "Ohw! Okay okay. Let go, weren't me!"
The deputy loosened his grip.
Tyron put his hand over his ear. "Well sir it was him," pointing to the boy on the right. Then he changed his mind, "No it wasn't, it was him," pointing to the boy on the left. "Well then ah sir, honestly. I aign't so sure. They both look alike. I aign't sure, could have been either of 'em. But I know for sure it weren't me!"
The deputy nodded his head, "Well they do look alike. At least we know it wazn't Tyron." He then stood in front of Geramy, "Alright, what's yous name?"
"I'm Geramy. I was here getting a book for my aunt. It weren't me," rubbing an absent tear away.
"Alright Geramy. If I believe yous, then it waz yous," pointing at Luke. "Yous boy! Must have been yous. Yous the only one left!" The deputy grabbed Luke's shirt collar and began to lift him up.
Luke squealed, "They's liars, born liars. I was reading about rabbits. Aunt Ruth's got rabbits, some 'em sick. I even talked to Mabel. I did. They's liars."
The deputy looked at her.
She nodded her head yes, "One of 'em asked about the fees."
The deputy let loose of Luke's shirt and bent down. Eye ball to eye ball he smiled, "So yous innocent too. Okay maybe yous are, maybe. Which one of your brothers waz here with yous in the library?"
Luke shook free of the clerk, slapping the hand free from his ear lobe. He slid over near Tyron, looked at his face close up, stood back and looked him up and down real slow. He then walked over in front of Geramy and did the same thing. Finally he squinted his face, rubbed his finger aside his nose, "Well officer. I can't say for sure. Could have been either of 'em. They look so much alike. I just couldn't say for sure." Putting his hands to his chest, "But it weren't me. I knows that for sure. I was here reading 'bout rabbits."
The deputy grabbed him by the shoulder and pull-pushed him over by Tyron. Standing before them, cowering down at them, "Let's get the facts straight. Yous name is Geramy. And yous Tyron."
They shook their heads, "Yes. Yes."
"Yous say it wazn't yous," pointing at Geramy.
"Wasn't me sir. I was here," Geramy confessed.
Pointing at Tyron, "And yous say yous waz here. It wazn't yous. That right?"
Tyron nodded yes, "For sure. I know I was here."
The deputy nodded, "That's what I thought." Then he quick spun around on his heals and put his finger on Luke's chest, "It had to be yous!"
Luke stood quiet shaking his head no, ever so slightly as the clerk still stood near holding his ear.
"What! What yous mean! Yous lying to me boy?" the deputy's face flushed.
And again Luke shook a slight no.
"Boy yous the lair. Had to be yous. Both yous brothers swear they waz here. Yous a liar. Yous tore up that store. Didn't yous!" his fat finger against Luke’s nose.
Luke noed him again.
"Alright boy speak for yous self. What yous mean saying no? They say they waz here," the deputy raised one eyebrow putting both hands on his hips.
Luke lowered his head then looked up into the deputy's eyes, "One of them is a liar. One of them was at the store."
"How yous know that?" the deputy raised the other eyebrow.
Luke smiled ever so slightly, "Had to be, cause I was here."
Putting his hand on his chin, "Yous say yous waz here..."
Quicking in, "Ask the librarian, she saw me," pointing and looking toward Mabel.
The deputy looked at Mabel, who nodded, "Yes. I did see him, one of them. I mean two of them. Oh I'm so confused." She patted her forehead with a lace hanky.
The deputy looked back to Luke, "How yous knows one of 'em lies?"
"Well sir. I been living with 'em all my life and one of 'em lies all the time. Lies about everything. Can't believe a word he says," grinning wide, his hands on his hips.
"That a fact?" the deputy's face beaming a broad smile, the wrinkles fading from his forehead. "Alright. Point him out. Which one lies? Geramy or Tyron?" and he turned to face the pair by the books.
"Well sir. I can't say," Luke stated looking over his shoulder for a brief glance.
"What!? Why not?" the deputy full of disbelief.
"Cause they both look alike. I can't tell 'em apart. Never could. I aign't sure which one is the liar. Never could," Luke confessed.
The deputy turned and looked at Geramy and Tyron. When he did, Luke darted around behind the deputy. The clerk called out, "Hay!" and the deputy spun back to see what the clerk was yelling about. When the deputy turned back around he stood facing three identical faces. "Pretty cute. Yea real cute. Okay Jerard, yous called. Yous seen 'em tear up yous store. Who waz it? Which one of 'em?"
Rubbing his chin, the clerk stood still a minute. He stared slow and long at each boy. Then finally confessed, "I never really got a good close look. They, he, just ran in and down the isle knocking off the boxes. I kinda saw 'em. I followed, run right in here after 'em. He, they, one of 'em there did it. It was one of 'em," pointing quick at each boy.
"Yea. I believe ya Jerard. But who. Which one?" the deputy slow pointed at each boy.
"Well sir. I aign't for sure. I, they look so alike. Same clothes and shoes and faces and hair and, and I can't say. But it was one of 'em. Arrest 'em all. Put 'em all in jail till they talk," the clerk nodded his head up and down, grinning back at the deputy.
Mabel shook her head no and said so, "You want a false arrest agin you. Two them boys been here since noon. This here is America, Jerard, not Cuba."
The door opened letting the barber's son out and the police siren scream in, reminding the deputy he hadn't offed the switch. He shook his head, put his hands on his hips. Then slow pointed at the boys, "Yous got away this time, but I'll be watching yous, each and every one of yous. One little slip up and yous mine. Come on Jerard, I'll give yous a ride back to the store."
Jerard seconded the warning, "You boys aign't welcome in my store, not for anything. And I'm telling your Aunt Ruth."
The deputy and the clerk slow walked down the stairs mouthing one another.
The trio soon followed behind, running and laughing all the way back to the farm. Where Aunt Ruth had no better luck at finding the truth. With summer's end the trio had fused closer and their wild confidence had left many of their peers in and out of trouble along the village streets.
Mrs. Trowler's free hand had not the settling affect it had in the past on this year's forth graders, for the Turner Triplets were in town. Were in her class. And they brought their loosed energies from the playground into her class. This day resulted in desk sliding races up the isles. Each boy slid into the open space of the isle and inched closer and closer to the front.
With her head down, eyes on the hour's lesson, the boys just kept inching forward closer and closer to her desk. The rest of the class kept their gnaffs and giggles and yelps of encouragement at a whisper. Finally the class erupted into a full blown, loud laugh when Luke reached over his desk and touched Mrs. Trowler's desk. She slowly looked up and was shocked at the sight. The class kept knee slapping and roar laughing.
She pushed her chair back, stood and slammed a book down on her desk three times, yelling, "Back. Back. Back you beasts. How dare you! Put those desks back this very minute! This very minute I say."
The Turners began scooting backwards as fast as they could. Luke slipped and fell out onto the floor. The class roared again. Geramy got to his isle, but he got turned sideways and tipped over, landing on the floor with the desk atop him. Tyron did better for he got up from his desk and slow pulled it back to its proper place. Then sat down and gestured himself the winner. Again the class laughed and some even hand clapped.
Mrs. Trowler busied herself helping first Luke right his desk, then Geramy. She stood in front of the class very stern, very rigid until all three boys were settled.
When the class was fairly quiet, she began her lesson, "Today we will begin multiplying fractions. I will call five to the board at a time. You will put the problem on the board and then solve it. Everyone at their desks will work the problem on paper to be turned in at the end of the hour. When the problems are done on the board the class will evaluate them. Alright. The first row will line up at the board."
The first row went quietly to the board. They wrote the numbers down as she explained the problem. Ten minutes later everyone stood facing the class to show they were done. Five more minutes passed before Mrs. Trowler told them to take their seats.
She went to her desk, picked-up her grade book and put a check by each students' name that had been at the board. Then she took the answer book and stood before each problem. When she got to the third problem, she turned to the class, "Well class, does anyone see the error here. Does anyone have a different answer for this problem?"
Most of the class raised their hands.
She looked at the name, "Geramy Turner please come back to the board."
Geramy scuffed his feet and a few kids giggled.
"Now class quiet. There's nothing funny about making mistakes. That's how we learn. It's how you know when you have done something wrong. Then you get to learn how to do it right for the next time. Class that's why you are in school. And believe you me, you will make many, many more mistakes before you graduate. All of you will, so let's not have any more laughter at someone's math mistakes."
By this time Geramy was standing beside her and was pretending to kick her shins and was making weird faces at her. The class was barely containing their laughter at his antics.
She turned to face him and he beamed innocence at her. She showed him the answer book and explained, "See, 1/4 x 2/3 = 2/12 not 2/7. You added the 4 and 3 to get 7. But this is a multiply problem, the 'x' means to multiply 4 times 3 to get 12. Do you understand?"
He looked at the book and silently nodded yes.
"Okay, correct it please," she instructed.
He reached to the eraser and wiped clear the 7 and put a 12 in its place.
"Very good. Now try another one." She wrote another similar problem on the board for him.
And again he made kicking gestures and ugly faces behind her back. This time some kids laughed.
She finished the problem and faced the class. They quieted so she spoke to him, "Go on. Try to multiply this one."
And again Geramy made the same error, adding the denominator.
"No no Geramy. Not adding. This is a multiply problem. Don't you understand? Look. 3/4 x 1/2 = 3/8 not 3/6. The little 'x' means for you to multiply. The little '+' means to add. You learned that last year didn't you?"
And Geramy shook his head no.
"What do you mean no? Didn't you go to school here last year?" squinting truth from him.
He said, "No Mrs. Trowler. In Chesterville."
"Oh that's right, you are a transfer student. You and your brothers. But you were in school last year, weren't you?" she looked back at the other two brothers.
"Yes," he stared blankly at her.
"In third grade?" she peered down at his height.
"Yes," he calmly said while putting his hands in his pockets.
"Well then you had to have learned that '+' means to add," her hands quick rested upon her hips.
Again he shook his head no.
"But you had to. All third graders learn that. Even second grade adds and subtracts," her voice cracked.
"Well I didn't," he said defiantly.
"Are you sure?" a smile returned to her face, "Let's try a few simple problems. Maybe it will come back to you." She erased the board clean before them. Then put a series of single numbers on the board and put a '+' sign beside the bottom number. Then she drew a line under the column of numbers. As her finger touched the '+' sign, she said, "See this plus sign."
Suddenly a big splat of wet paper wad hit and stuck right on top of the '+' sign.
Mrs. Trowler lurched backwards, grabbed her chest with her right hand, squeaked out a short high pitched alarm, then slow looked at the class.
No one moved.
"Alright Geramy. Take your seat. Everyone will do the odd problems on page 18. Turn them in at the end of the hour. Alright begin." The class began the silent work as she took to her chair and Geramy to his desk.
Mrs. Trowler opened her purse and took out a small gold pill box. She extracted a red round, calm-down pill and let it dissolve under her tongue. After the first bell, she got up and collected the class work. She stood before the class and didn't turn her back until they had all left for the hallway. She then wiped the problems from the board, gathered her things and went to her next classroom.
After school, after all the children had disappeared and the quiet felt comfortable, Mrs. Trowler went across the hallway to speak to her best and dearest friend of twenty seven years, Miss Hazel Lock. They had begun teaching the same year and had decided to work the full thirty years together even though the past years had become exhausting and overly demanding upon their patience.
Each new class became bolder, louder, smart mouthed and wilder, plainly just disrespectful kids. Only their closeness held them resolute to do the full thirty. The extra retirement income would mean the difference in a comfortable life style or a penny pinching, wait till death existence. They helped each other, worked as back-up when the kids got out of control. Soon the classes learned they had two teachers for fourth grade to contend with. What occurred in one room, the other teacher soon knew of and would call down on the culprits. They kept an eye and an ear open for each other during the day and lived in the same apartment building.
Mrs. Trowler closed the door behind her and took a desk seat in the front row, putting her head down on her arms.
Miss Hazel Lock well knew the sign of a worn to the edge, bummer day. So she sat back and watched over her dear companion. After a few minutes she called softly, "Hay you 'ol troll, want a cold beer?" then made a pop and sizzle noise.
That always brought a smile and a head off the desk. "Yea a real cold one. Better make it two. What a day," Mrs. Trowler always returned. This ritual of two tired friends at the end of many long days seemed to distract them from the fatigue.
Then Mrs. Trowler told her tale of the Turner triplets' desk race, which brought an appreciative chuckle from Hazel. "Yes I guess it is funny, but I lost it. Blew up. Nearly screamed at them. That's it Hazel, I've lost all patience. I've no humor left. And it's only the second week. What am I to do?"
"Calm down you 'ol troll. So you met your match. The Turner trio got to you. Well thanks for the warning. I've had my eye on 'em. But they been model students in here. Just waiting for the right time," Hazel guessed.
"No dear, not in my class. They've been all noise since day one. Shuffling, coughing, pushing, now someone threw a big wet wad on the board when I was helping Geramy Turner with adding fractions. The bell rang right after, so tomorrow I got to stand 'em down." She shook her head slow, pretended a long drink on the invisible beer can, then laid her head back down, "I'm tired."
Hazel kept peppering her, "You can do it. There's fire still in those ancient eyes. Remember you're the 'ol troll. Got to keep that image up. Got to hold the line. Put the chains on 'em first thing tomorrow."
Mrs. Trowler looked up, "You got something there," a twinkle sparked behind her dull gray pupils. "Chains. Yea real chains. I've a set of tire snow chains in the trunk. Jake. Oh Jake!" She got up from the desk with the quickness of the students who had sat there before her. At the door she spun around on her heals, faked another long drink, and feigned a basketball pitch into the waste-basket aside the doorway, giving the tall can a slight kick with her foot, 'clank', "Two points."
They both laughed.
At the end of the second week the night air was cooled by a northern breeze. Children in chase laughed at each other as their dogs yipped along the alleyways. A pair of young lovers walked in hand, eyeing homes they might like to live in. A trio of high school cross county runners sprinted from the roadway to the sidewalk, jumping ditches and avoiding cars. The rhythm of porch swings set the pace for after supper walkers. Kids read school books, dads browsed newspapers, and a new mom fed her baby. An attic guitar player filled the treetops as a teen pulled a wagon of young sisters to the street corner and back. Kitchen windows silhouetted supper dish washers while a sunset reflected rainbow colors through bare car windows parked for tomorrow's chores.
These usual late summer, early evening activities filled Ms Smyth's neighborhood while she sat behind the thick curtains watching the black and white videos in slow motion. She sat close to the screen with a seating chart and a note pad reviewing each child's actions during the last five minutes of each class. That covered the time the caramels were handed to those still working as employees.
Each child's behavior had to be recorded and analyzed for each day, that would be the long, time consuming part of her thesis, one hundred and twenty kids for the last five minutes. There would be no time for distractions, yet she had looked for Jake at the donut cafe again.
After the second week, ten kids from each class had been laid-off and did not receive caramels. In the third grade those without candy were teased and tempted with candy below their noses. Some kids pretended to give away their extra candy, but pulled it back quick, eating the bait and then laughing. The teased kids made ugly faces and gestures at their tormentors.
In the forth grade two boys without caramels actually grabbed away the teased candy and popped it in their mouths. Two other boys ended up on the floor trying to get a dropped candy. One girl swung a book at a teasing boy slamming his hand. The girl laughed, the boy cried, and the candy was retrieved by Ms Smyth and kept.
In the fifth grade candy was traded for coins, baseball cards, pencils, marbles, and a business text. There were only two incidents of teasing. Most of the kids ate their candy behind their desk tops right before the bell rang.
She worked all weekend until one a.m. Sunday night and over slept again, having to drive the car to school.
Day ten
On Monday, the third week of school, Ms Smyth doubled the caramel candies for each worker in all six classes. As she walked down each isle, exchanging with each of the remaining ten workers two pieces for their work, a chorus of complaints whined from the rest.
On the blackboard she printed one word: RAISE. She turned back to the class, "Alright. Alright. Quiet down class. Getting more money, candy, for the same amount of time worked, is called a raise. A company will offer and give raises for many reasons. All this week we will be studying some of those reasons."
The first bell rang and the students put their books away. Ms Smyth gathered her things, changing the video-tape in the satchel on her desk.
Throughout the day, she doubled each classes reward just before the bell. And feigned off complaints and questions with, "Tomorrow. Tomorrow."
Peter, while in 5B classroom, swung his fist at Paul, "Rats, big rats, more cheese for the big rats." He unwrapped one caramel, then the other and popped them both into his mouth, "Yummy cheese. Squeak squeak."
Paul sat back immobile, staring at Ms Smyth's back. The first bell rang, yet he remained, watching her. How she gingerly retrieved the satchel from top of the tall bookshelf. And how she gingerly opened it on her desk and stuck both hands deep within. "She's got something in there. I'm sure of it," his thoughts echoed.
The class began to filter back in slowly.
Paul watched her leave, then followed her into her next class. He quick sat in the nearest, empty door desk. He watched how she carefully put the satchel high and carefully aimed it. And again he seemed to see a glint of light reflect off the hidden lens. When the owner of the desk tapped his shoulder, he upped and left mumbling, "Rats, just big rats." Through-out the week Paul stayed behind and watched her open the satchel and manipulate a new tape. He then hurried from his class at the hour break and followed Ms Smyth into each of her classes, watching her carefully arrange the satchel at the top of each bookshelf.
Day twelve
On Wednesday at lunch Paul guided Peter and Mary to a remote corner of the playground. There he revealed his suspicions to them. Peter remained doubtful. But Mary agreed something peculiar was happening with Ms Smyth. She added that they needed a plan and more proof. They stood staring at the school.
Mary's eyes widened, "After class we'll surround her. You two distract her. Then I'll look inside."
Paul beamed, "That's a plan. Can you do it?"
"Yes I can, but you two got to get her turned around," Mary insisted.
Peter was hesitant, "You two been watching too much television. It's harmless. So she gives us some candy. It's like money for dad at work. She's teaching us about the real world. The satchel is her business. It's her stuff. What ya think is in there, a movie camera? Ha ha," he laughed.
Paul smiled, "Exactly, big mouth. A movie camera. She's got us on film. We're just her rats in the maze. The candy is the cheese, not money."
Mary nodded in agreement, "Paul has a good point. There's no reason to give us candy every day just to explain what a paycheck is. Your dad doesn't get paid every day."
Peter had to think, "Well maybe. But, well, so what. I get candy and you don't. You're laid-off. You know that really happens. You're just jealous."
"And angry and mad." Mary added, "Now you get two candies and we're not getting any."
"That's twenty pieces of candy she gave out today," Paul calculated.
"I know. I can add," Peter smirked.
Mary interjected, "And there are twenty of us. So we all could get one. That would be the twenty she gave to only ten kids today. I understand the paycheck for work already."
"But you wouldn't get paid in the real world if you weren't working," Peter refuted her.
Paul nodded, "Peter is kinda right. Just like Ms Smyth explained, 'No work, no pay.' And that's what my parents say is the real world. But we are just kids learning." He kicked the ground and dust flew through the chain links. "She has a camera on us like a scientist filming rats in a maze. She's experimenting on us to see what we do when we don't get candy. And when we do," an angry whine emitted.
Mary frowned, "Not very nice. Just doesn't seem fair. Twenty kids, twenty candies. Not ten kids and twenty candies."
Peter unwrapped another caramel, "See what Ms Smyth has learned ya," grinning at her.
Mary swiped a right hand, knocking the candy to the ground. It rolled to the feet of a third grader. He bent down, picked it up, dusted it on his shirt and popped it in his mouth.
Peter swang a fist at Mary, "You skank. That was mine, I earned it."
Paul called to them, "Stop it you two. You trying to fall on your heads?"
Peter caught his balance.
Mary added, "Big rats in her maze. Just what will we do for her candy cheese? Did you see that boy eat that dirty piece? And you almost fell on your head!"
Paul pointed at the school, "Well we're not rats. We're kids. Let's expose her. We're not rats for her experiment."
Mary agreed.
Peter said, "Wow not me. I like the candy. Maybe that satchel is full of candy."
Paul shook his head, "No way. There's a movie camera in there. I'm positive."
Mary leaned closer, "We need proof. We've got to get a look inside. Peter you have to help."
"Come on Peter. Just come up to the desk with us," Paul beckoned.
Mary added, "You don't have to do anything. Just stand there."
Paul nodded, "That's right, you stay with me. Mary will go on the other side and peek in."
The bell ended their lunch plans.
After the class ended the trio stalled, hanging back as the other kids filed out. When Ms Smyth had the satchel open, they hurried to her. With the satchel open, Paul pulled Peter's shirt and Mary pushed his back. The boys went right and Mary slipped around left. Peter jerked away, "No. Let's get." Paul grabbed his waist and they fell to the floor.
Ms Smyth looked up from her satchel to see Paul tackle Peter and yelled at him, "Stop it. Stop it!" She bent over and quick pulled Paul up from atop Peter, "Stop it. I said!"
Meanwhile Mary reached over, grabbed the top latch and leaned the satchel to her. She quick looked inside then let it stand aright. She fast stepped away to rejoin the water line.
When Ms Smyth got Paul calm she asked, "Okay. Okay. What are you boys fighting about?"
Peter sat quiet as Paul lied about the quarrel, "He changed the price of a caramel after I already paid him."
"Is that the story Peter?" she glanced at each boy.
"Well sort of," looking at Paul.
"How much did he charge you?" her curiosity peaked.
Paul reached in his pocket, extracted one nickel and held it in his open palm. "I was sure he said a nickel. But after I gave him one, he said it was two nickels."
"He called me a liar. Two nickels is the price," Peter cut in, covering the lie.
"Well boys, fighting over a nickel is not too smart. Here," she handed Peter a dime. "This time I'll settle it, next time you'll both go to the principal's office. Do you understand?" she said sternly and put her hands on her hips.
They nodded yes.
"Now you boys shake hands and get along," she shoed them on.
Standing behind Mary at the water cooler, Paul inquired. She lowered her head telling him, "It's a movie camera."
Paul swore, "I knew it! I told you so," beaming.
Day thirteen
On Thursday Ms Smyth arose early. She dressed quickly and went out to her car. She paused in the new twilight and followed the flight of a fleeing night bird. As it disappeared above her, she saw the full moon in her corner sight. The distant west horizon pulled it from sight, "Or is the sun chasing it away?" she mused. Looking at her wristwatch she realized she had an hour before school and began to return to the house, "Time for a few more videos." At the door her hand stopped inches from the knob. "Enough," a songbird chirped along the sidewalk.
And so she followed along, enjoying her first walk through the still sleepy neighborhood. The street turned left and connected to the main drag. Within minutes she was seated by the window munching a glaze donut, letting the steam rise from the fresh coffee. Her stomach turned. "Well maybe another donut," lead her to the counter, eyeing the trays of variant circles.
"Another glaze miss?" the young blue eyed girl queried.
"Well I don't know, maybe a jelly filled or well maybe..." her hungry eyes turning green.
"Try the lemon pudding," suggested a deep familiar voice.
Her stomach turned again, but differently, "Oh hi Jake. Thanks," her eyes widening. "I'll try one of those Jacki."
"Okay. How about you Jake?" the waitress smiled. "Well Jackie. I need a mixed dozen today for the staff. Fix me up the usual box will ya?" he asked while staring at Ms Smyth.
"Sure. Be just a minute." Jacki handed the lemon pudding to Ms Smyth. Then the young girl began filling a cardboard box with a few of each type for Jake the janitor.
Ms Smyth smiled at Jake, "You buying those for the office?"
"Yea. We began a pool last week. Five of us. So once a week I buy. Surprised to see ya. Where's ya car?" he quick glanced at the street.
"Oh it was such a nice morning I walked here," she smiled warmly.
"Well ya goin' to have to run back," Jake grinned at her.
"Huh, why?" she pouted.
Pointing to the clock on the far wall, Jake directed her view.
"Oh my. Sure took longer than I thought. I'll never make it," looking helplessly at him.
"I got my truck. Give ya a ride if ya don't much mind the looks," Jake offered calmly.
She sighed," Thanks. Running isn't my cup of tea." She put a dollar beside her coffee cup as he paid for the box of mixed donuts.
She held the door open, then quick followed him across the street between the stream of 8 to 5 worker cars.
His truck was very old, but inside was like new and she couldn't help but say, "This is really nice, you fix it up?"
Jake nodded yes and flicked the radio on. The sound came from the four corners and filled the cabin. "Dolby quadra-phonic full sound!" he beamed. After turning the volume down, he dropped his right hand upon her knee.
She looked at his hand on her leg. Her breath quickened. Her face flushed red and she sat immobile, excited, panicky. Then "plop" a glob of lemon pudding landed on her lap. She jumped and coughed, "Oh no."
Taking his hand back to the steering wheel, he looked perplexed at her, "What? You okay?"
She grabbed the glob up with her left hand, holding the dripping donut at him, "The pudding fell out."
"Oh, sorry," he cracked a purt grin.
"It's not your fault," she stammered.
"Well say. Ya alone and I'm alone. How 'bout we hang out together?" he grinned her.
Her face flushed again, she trembled a smile, but then a memory echoed, "The experiment." She faced him, "Ah well, maybe. I've got all this school work. In a couple of weeks the pressure will be off. I'll be caught up. Ah well, then, maybe, okay?" she half faced him.
Jake skewed his eye brows, "Yea. Okay. In a couple of weeks. Sure."
"Turn left!" she blurted, throwing out her left arm.
The tires squealed at the sudden turn and the on-coming car blared its horn at the quick turn Jake had wheeled.
"Sorry. I've got to go to my house for my books and a new dress," her face flushed red, she stared forward.
"It's okay. Wasn't that close. That guy's mind still in bed asleep. Most folks drive that way in the morning," he stared at the glob of pudding on her lap.
"Third house from the end, down there," she pointed at the stop sign.
As she got out, he looked at the school, "Ya walk to work?"
"Usually, unless I'm late," she stood outside, looking in at him. "Ah well thanks," glancing at her watch.
He looked at the clock on his dash, "Better hurry."
"Yea. Thanks again," she slammed the door and trot to the front door. There she realized she was still holding onto the lemon filled donut. She turned back to see his truck disappear.
Thursday marked the forth, straight day of pranks on Mrs. Trowler. She was pretty sure the Turner triplets were the pranksters, yet had no solid proof. She was amused mostly, but her friend, Hazel, seemed to be getting angrier with each prank she'd tell of.
On Monday all the chalk was gone. On Tuesday her chair was in the boys' bathroom, which took Jake to find. On Wednesday her desk was upside down. What would they do next? She had begun to look forward to their ingenuity. Telling them that was a big mistake for she could not get up from her chair on Thursday. Her dress stuck by glue to the seat of the chair. She rose up only a few inches and the material lifted the chair. It's weight was enough to land her back down on the chair. Whether she leaned left or right the dress still tugged the chair. She knew she was glued, but did anyone else?
She looked at the class, they seemed their usual faces, still fidgeting and soft chatting. Some looking at her, others looking out the window. She stared at each of the Turner boys, but could not discern their feelings. "Surely only they were bold enough for such a serious prank. I'll have to cut this dress to get loose. This time they've gone too far," thought Mrs. Trowler. Then she scribbled a note to the principal, outlining her dilemma, requesting a long science lab coat and a pair of scissors to be delivered the end of the first hour. When the office helper came for the absentee/lunch count, she also included the note.
The rest of the hour she spent at her chair, watching while the class did the problems at the end of the chapter. Only the prankster knew of her situation; she sat coolly, watching over the top of the textbooks on her desk. Everyone stayed busy and innocent at their desks, especially the Turner boys, too innocent. The front row seated kids brought the work to her desk at the hour's end. How could she catch them? What could she do? It was time for another cold beer with Hazel. It was only week three and she was stuck to her chair. How could she possibly get through the entire year with these three? Then a somber thought struck her, "They'll be here next year too. Oh no." And she laid her throbbing head on the desk till first bell.
Mary, the administration secretary, came in with a white coat and put it on her desk. Mrs. Trowler said to the few remaining kids still at their desks, "You three go out in the hall until the second bell rings. Go on! Mary stay at the door and keep them all out please." With Mary on guard, Mrs. Trowler carefully cut the dress off at the waist. She put on the long white chemistry lab coat and buttoned it down below her knees. She then trimmed most of the glued dress from the chair. She put the scraps in her purse. She gave the scissors to Mary, "Please don't tell anyone. I want to catch the little rats by keeping everyone in the dark. Sooner or later one of them will spill the beans."
"I gotch ya," she winked, taking the scissors back to the office where she proceeded to entertain the office staff of the prank over a cup of coffee and one of Jake's donuts.
The rest of Thursday remained normal, except for a small push and shove session at the far corner of the playground. The two lunch attendants blew their whistles and ran to break-up the dozen troublemakers.
"It had something to do with caramel candy," Mrs. Dobbet said to Carol Tunnel, "A dime was too much".
"I heard one boy say, 'You should have been laid-off, not me'." Carol added, "And Ms Smyth's name was mumbled."
"Are you sure?" Mrs. Dobbet raised one eyebrow.
"Think we should talk to her?" wondered Carol.
"Well it's early in the year, they'll settle down," assured the seasoned teacher, ending the scene. They then followed the kids back into the school.
Day fourteen
At Friday's after schoolteacher meeting, Mrs. Trowler finally broke down and cried, only half explaining through the tears and sobs. Once Hazel calmed her, she explained of the long series of pranks, putting her cut dress pieces on his desk. Hazel was outraged and demanded the Turner triplets be expelled.
The principal calmed the group and asked of other troubles from the fourth grade. He received a continuous blur of expletives and stories from each teacher of fourth grader pranks, antics, swear words, rude chalk pictures and fights since the year began. After twenty minutes the group quieted, worn down.
"Alright. Over the weekend all of you please make out a detailed report of every incident you can remember. Names and details. I have to have plenty of proof, incidences, before I can transfer any kid or call any parent. Please type them and put them in my box. Anything else?" he spoke eloquently over the top of his horn rims.
All the women sat tired and silent, ready for the weekend at home.
Day fifteen
Monday's noon sun watched the children stream from the cafeteria by ones and twos. Hand holding girls hit the playground in high squeal, while the boys darted and zagged each other. Lines at the spiral slide, lines for the merry-go-round, lines at the swings, races from the fence to the door, games of tag, all became rougher, louder, crueler. It was all recorded by Ms Smyth's hidden camera.
The last fifteen minutes of the two half hour lunch periods let the students run and scream. The sixty kids usually mingled by grade and stayed with neighbor friends, but during the third week Ms Smyth was sure a new pattern had developed; groups of her laid-off workers against those with caramels bulging in their mouths. She had spotted the candy dealers by the trunk of the large oak in the farthest corner, coins for caramels. Now that she had doubled the worker's wage more were willing to sell or trade and the distant oak was far enough from the playground supervisors. The camera zoom lens produced clear enough images to document the student's actual behavior.
Peter, Paul and Mary held the top tier position on the pyramid and continued their plans.
Paul began, "Look. My sister and I had a long talk this weekend. She brought her new boy friend home from college."
Mary's eyes widened, "Where did he sleep?"
"In the guest room down stairs, nosey. Well I told them everything," he beamed proudly, rocking on his heals.
Peter cut in, "You mean the satchel folly?"
"Yes you dumbbell. And the candy bit by Smyth. And the suspicious satchel glass reflection. And the way she's always in it after the class," Paul gestured opening the invisible bag.
"Cool, what'd they think?" Mary leaned closer.
"Bob said, 'Rats, yep. More rats at the cheese'." Paul told them.
"He thinks your house has rats?" Peter laughed.
"No you dumbbell. You're the rat, me, her, all of us are Smyth's rats. Bob said it was a psychological experiment. Probably to make her some kind of a doctor," Paul continued.
"That's hogwash," Peter skolfed. "She's already a teacher. Why be a doctor?"
Mary refuted, "You don't know much do you. Being a doctor is better, more money and a nicer car and a big house. Vacations in Europe. What would you rather be?"
Peter raised his eyes, "This doctor stuff sounds okay. Maybe that's what I'll do."
Paul continued, "Fine, but I don't like being her laboratory rat. Do you?"
"Well the candy's nice, aign't it," Peter smiled, taking a caramel from his pocket.
Paul knocked it down to the ground and two girls grabbed for it, rolling on the ground.
Mary's accusing finger in Peter's face, "Not if you're laid-off. Actually I'm getting angry at this candy stuff. You wave them around like you're so special."
"I am," expanding his chest.
"For a rat!" Paul chided him.
"And there's lots of kids mad at this. We've been discussing this candy stuff on my bus. There was almost a fight. The bus driver had to stop to quiet the kids in the back seat. He was really mad at us," Mary explained.
The bell rang and the playground became a flurry of arms and legs disappearing into the dark double doorway.
When the Turner triplets settled into their seats, Mrs. Hazel Lock called each of them to the board to work the day's English problems. They looked curiously at each other as they realized no one else was joining them at the board.
Mrs. Lock stood in front of the windows, near the row of desks. She told them the problem and they wrote the long jumbled sentence on the board. As they struggled to put the words in logical sequence Hazel began telling the class a story from her childhood, "Looking at you innocent youths, brings me back to my own school days. We had some fun too. We pulled some good pranks on our science teacher. He was a stuffy man with a fat belly. He laughed at our jokes, always tried to catch us. Did once. He caught Billy Lynn drawing an ugly teacher face on the board. Took him out to the wood shed. We could hear him yelp. He had a long wide belt. We never meant no real harm. Didn't mean to scare anyone. We were careful about that.
Now-a-days I hear something different. Someone has been doing some real mean pranks on Mrs. Trowler. She's the nicest woman I ever know'd. She would do anything to help her students. It just plain angers me to hear of the pranks that have been happening to her. And when I find out who," she slammed her fist into her palm. "Well we don't have a wood shed, but there is a furnace room that would do just as good. So you kids can call this your first and only warning. Stop pranking Mrs. Trowler." She had gotten louder and the words came faster and faster. Her hands held tight to the window ledge as if anchoring herself from charging at the main suspects working sentence structure problems on the board.
The Turner boys occasionally glanced at each other during her lecture. Finally they faced her and on cue they replied in unison, "All yours teacher."
"Fine," cold and firm, "take your seats."
The boys found their desks and Mrs. Lock went to the board. "Alright class. The rest of the hour, you will work quietly at the review exercises at the end of chapter two. I'll collect the work at the end of the hour."
Desk tops opened and tablets appeared.
Hazel went to the board and erased each problem, then sat quietly at her desk watching.
Meanwhile across the hall Ms Smyth had Alaina D reading aloud.
Paul leaned back, slid low, and rested the book on the desk. His eyes heavy he drifted into a nap. Relaxed, his book fell forward landing on the floor. The loud slap on the floor startled him and the rest of the class awake. All eyes turned toward him.
"Sorry Ms Smyth, it slipped, honest," Paul said.
"Well be more careful. Go on Alaina D, continue," she waved her on.
Everyone settled to listen.
Paul quietly leaned over, his fingers slipping under the open book. When he laid it on the desk it was open at the picture of the union strike. His interest was captured by the men with bats and signs and by the children aside them marching, fighting with the men in blue uniforms and white shirts. The billboard signs called for unions and child labor laws. He sat up, looked around at his classmates, "Rats indeed!" slipped from his lips.
By the hour's end he had his plan. After school he walked with Mary to her house. Walking close and speaking low, they merged and welded the plan. That evening they spoke to every fifth grader they could reach by phone.
Day sixteen
The next day the entire lunch group had assembled around the pyramid bars.
Paul stood up, "Alright, who's for it?"
All hands went up.
"Alright who's against it?" No hands up.
As quickly as they had assembled, they dispersed.
Ms Smyth was in the teacher's lounge and missed seeing their secret vote. Her camera got it on video, but she wouldn't review that tape until weeks later.
The second lunch hour also assembled around the pyramid bars. Paul's best friend, John in 5A, had agreed with their plan. Just before the vote a campaign cry rang through the 5A crowd, "No candy, no copies." They too were unanimous.
During the many phone calls of Tuesday and Wednesday afternoon and evening, the majority of the school had agreed to strike Ms Smyth's business class on Thursday. The plan was simple, instead of coping the questions at the end of the chapter, they would sit silent. At the end of the hour, when she asked of the work, each class would unite, "No candy, no copies. We're on strike." If she got angry or threatened to get the principal or call the parents, they would point to the photo of the child labor law strikes on page 99.
Day eighteen
The first business class was 3B third graders. They sat nervously still. Just before the first bell rang she stood at the front desk to collect the copies and was handed a single piece of paper with the word 'STRIKE' at the top and 'NO CANDY, NO COPIES' below that.
She stood frozen, staring at the protest.
The first bell rang and Ms Smyth motioned the first row to rise. The class lined against the wall and then slowly filed into the hallway.
She returned to her desk. She put the slip in her instruction book. And put the caramels back in the box. She changed the tape discretely at her desk, glancing at the third graders still at their desk. She then went across the hall to her 3A third grade class.
The hallway was unusually quiet.
At the end of second hour, the 3A class also handed her a strike slip.
Again she stood frozen, staring at the protest. She returned to her desk, gathered her things, put the caramels back in the box, changed the tape and left the students at their chairs.
Third hour was 4A fourth graders. It went the same.
And so too did fourth hour, 5A fifth graders.
Fifth hour was the two lunch half-hours. And she carefully watched the playground. A few kids slapped high-five hands, but most played the usual running, laughing, sliding, and swinging.
"How could they be so cool, so organized," she wondered.
Sixth hour was 5B fifth graders and they snickered behind their hands when they should have been coping. She wanted to call them on it, yet held her comments. Instead of the copy question work, she got another strike slip. They were all done the same, on a computer printer.
The last class was 4B fourth graders, with the rowdy Turner triplets who troubled Mrs. Trowler. Ms Smyth wondered, "Were they behind this. No, she couldn't, wouldn't say anything. This strike had to have some thought behind it, and careful planning, very subtle, probably some fifth graders," she concluded.
And another strike slip went into her instruction book.
School out, halls silent, she gathered her things and walked to her house in slow deliberate thought, "None of the other teachers had come to speak to me. Did they know? Were they keeping their distance for me to resolve? Maybe they think it's a mess. But it's not. It's exactly what they should do. Maybe one of their parents helped set this up. One. It would take more than that. Every class. Every student sat still. Well that's the end of this experiment. A fitting, yet surprising end. I've enough data, what a conclusion."
Day nineteen
Friday morning came. The roll taken. The lunch count tabulated. The principal made his announcements no one heard.
The 3B third grade class sat, hands on laps, fingers fidgeted, shoes scuffled, hair twisted, and lips chewed.
Ms Smyth wrote on the board in big block letters: 'STRIKE' under that she printed: 'UNIONS'. She turned and faced the class, smiling she began her explanation. "Well class, my congratulations. I'm very surprised at your strike. But I am very proud, very pleased. You, the whole school, have formed a union. You have made a formal protest against working conditions you all found unbearable. Excellent." She took her Business Today book and opened it to page ninety, "Alright class. Turn to page ninety."
The group looked at each other, a little less nervously. They quick got out their books and paged to their assignment.
"Alright class. The entire school has jumped ahead and so shall I. We will begin our reading aloud on page ninety." After the first thirty-five minutes of aloud reading, she addressed the class again, "So the school went on strike. No candy, no copies. And that is just what you all should have done. Very good. You all get an Excellent for the first three weeks of Business Today, the workers unit. I am closing down the factory. Everyone is laid-off."
All the kids began to mumble, glancing and pointing at each other, "The candy. What about our candy?"
"Well class, remember the candy was money for the workers. But now there aren't any workers. So no candy for anyone. Everyone is back to being just a student. You are students. I am the teacher. Do you get candy from any other teacher?"
They shook their heads no.
"This has been a very good exercise. We will be referring to this and discussing our experiences as workers all year. I'm very proud of you students! Remember no more workers, no more candy. Understand?"
The class mumbled.
Jenny by the window raised her hand, "Do we still have to copy the questions?"
"You mean copy the questions at the chapter's end?" Ms Smyth smiled wide back at her.
"Yes. The stuff we were getting candy for," Jenny licked her lips.
Ms Smyth held the text high, "Yes class. Everyone. The whole school will still be copying questions. That is part of your learning process. You are here to learn."
The class moaned. Some anger sounded.
"Alright class. That's enough for today. Put your books away. I'll see you Monday," and she sat down, watching them.
Books away they sat talking; the last of their saved caramels slipped into waiting mouths.
The bell rang and Ms Smyth shifted her way around the school.
The word passed quickly through the school, lessening the impact each hour. She praised each class and she complimented their ingenuity and far-sightedness. Adding how she would like to know the details of the strike, but no one volunteered so she didn't press them. She guessed she'd learn of their organizing as the days unfolded. Just possibly the staff already knew. Surely some of the parents would call her down on it.
During Mrs. Lock's math class with the Turner triplets sixth hour, a tornado of trouble began as the kids at the blackboard refused to do any work. "What do you mean you all are on strike? Children don't have strikes; you're not workers. You are students here to learn. I'll have no more of this nonsense. Jamie, you put question one on the board. Ralph, do number two. Luke, you have three. Pam, yours is four." Hazel Lock looked up from her book at the four.
They stood immobile, the chalk still on the tray.
"I said put the problems on the board!" her voice stern.
"Strike! Strike!" came from two sides of the class.
Hazel turned and glared at them.
"Strike!" Luke echoed at her back.
She spun back to face him.
"Strike. Strike. Strike," called his brothers sitting at their desks.
She slammed her book down on the window ledge. "That does it. I've had enough of you boys. You Turner boys. Everyone take your seats!"
The four at the board scampered around her desk, running back to their own, hands about their ears.
"Alright. Luke, Geramy, Tyron Turner. Front and center. Right now!" She pointed to the floor before her.
They sat.
"I said now! Front and center!" her face scowling.
The triplets looked at each other, grinning and winking. They sat immobile, silent.
"Now!" she stomped her foot.
Someone laughed.
She jerked forward and lurched her hands at the first Turner she neared.
At once all three boys bolted from their seats and ran to the back of the room. They rounded the isle and darted up along the walls.
She reached across Becky's desk at Luke, missed him and nearly knocked her over. She regained her balance and spun to the front of the room.
They stood behind her desk, "Strike. Strike. We're on strike."
She ran at them and a low, fearsome growl came from her.
The class sat haunched, grimaced, holding themselves. One girl whimpered.
At her desk, she stopped in front, "You boys are going with me to the principal's. Right now! You're going to be expelled!" The word frightened them and they stood froze, just long enough for Hazel to lounge across the desk and grab two of their shirts.
"Hay! Let go! Owhee!" The third boy quicked about the desk and kicked her in the shin, hard!
Her pain screamed. She involuntarily grabbed her wound, "Ohweeeee! Damn you, you little devils. Damn you!" She knocked the row of books from the front corner of the desk at them. Some of the books connected, dropping to the floor, some missed.
"Damn you. You 'ol witch. Strike. Strike. We're on strike," they laughed, pointing at her.
She quick hobbled around the desk, one hand on the top for support.
The boys bumped into each other and were held in place a second long enough for her finger nails to snatch the edge of a shirt. Then they bolted away, heading for the door.
She surged a second time, but missed. Her right foot landed on an up turned book and she slipped to the floor, hard, landing on her hip bone. She lay still long enough to realize an immense sharp pain. When she tried to stand the pain shot through her. She scream whimpered and stayed on the floor, atop the scattered books.
Two girls, braved up to the desk, "Are you alright Mrs. Lock?"
"No. Go get Mrs. Trowler, Becky. Robyn tell the class to stay seated, to read their books," she winced up instructions.
Becky quicked across the hall.
And the Turner triplets ran for home laughing, "Strike, strike," looking over their shoulders for Hazel Lock.
Mrs. Trowler knelt beside her friend, fear and concern mixed within, "What happened?"
"I've fallen and I can't get up," Hazel managed a weak laugh.
"You want a cold one?" Mrs. Trowler quipped.
"Better make it a six pack," Hazel smiled to her.
The principal called an ambulance. The school intercom buzzed, "Attention. Attention. All staff and students. Very soon an ambulance will arrive here. Mrs. Lock has fallen and hurt her hip. It is not serious. There is no cause for alarm. Everyone will please remain in their classrooms until the ambulance has departed. Teachers, is that understood?"
Each of the five teachers buzzed him back, "Affirmative."
Within ten minutes the city ambulance wailed, piercing the peace of the town, causing fear and apprehension along the streets to the school. The husky team pushed Hazel onto the collapsible bed and wheeled her slowly through the class, the hallway, then gently lifted her up and into the converted van. And once again the siren screeched, piercing her ears and adding to her fear and pain. Hazel complained to the attendant all the way to the hospital. But he only shook his head, "It's the law mame. Got to follow the rules," and gestured his fingers to his ear plugs. The x-rays revealed a hairline crack in her left hip bone. She was later transferred to a nursing facility.
There was a vacant chair at the teachers' meeting. The principal opened briefly, "Mrs. Lock fell and was taken to Family General Hospital last hour. Mrs. Trowler you were with her at the end, what did she tell you?"
"It was those terrible Turner boys. They enticed the class to go on strike. No one would do their board work. The Turners kept chanting, 'Strike Strike'. They refused to go to your office. When she confronted them, one of them kicked her. She chased them around the desk and fell. That's about it. Those awful boys," sadly shaking her head.
"A strike you say?" queried the principal.
"Yes. That's about it. The Turners frightened the class. Made them agree to a strike against Hazel. Said they'd beat the other kids up. So the class just sat quiet after she assigned board work. Then the Turner boys began yelling, 'Strike'. That's about it," she looked to the other women about the room.
The other teachers began bantering, "Those awful boys. I feel for her. That's a bad fall. Nothing but trouble. Pranksters, troublemakers, no good. Can't do a thing with them. Get rid of 'em. String 'em up."
"Now now ladies. Let's remember who and where we are. Have those Turner boys been causing all of you trouble?" the elderly principle queried.
The group nodded yeses and began bantering again.
"Well ladies. What we, what I need are reports. Documented evidence. Over the weekend write down any incidence of trouble those Turners have caused or you suspect them of causing. Especially this strike thing in Hazel's class. Come Monday I'll have her class write individual accounts. Then I'll turn the Turners over to the Trustees. Maybe we'll just be able to transfer them." He leaned the over stuffed chair back against the book shelf, thumbs in his vest.
The teachers finished their coffee and left, chatting of poor Hazel and those terrible Turners.
Ms Smyth hung around the hallway outside the office, debating silently if she ought to speak to the principal about her business class, the experiment, the exercise, and the school strike against her. Maybe it was her fault, not the Turners. Well that was a little far-fetched; those Turner boys actually were trouble makers. And maybe they really had caused the school strike against her. Maybe they were the leader