Dewey Fairchild, Sibling Problem Solver

by Lorri Horn

  Franklin had visited Boston and seen that they were better prepared to fight fires than they were where he lived in Philadelphia. So he pretended he was an old man and wrote an anonymous letter to his local newspaper, saying how their firefighting practices in Philadelphia stinks, and if they’d be so kind, they should take the following “hints” how to make it better. ’Cause he could hardly be expected to help his neighbors if they have a fire. He was old! And his hands were all brittle and arthritic!

  It was written in that way people used to talk forever ago, plus he was pretending to be some old guy, so that probably wasn’t helping things, but Dewey got the idea:

  An ounce of prevention . . . avoid the fire in the first place. Then you don’t find yourself faced with waiting for a team of younger guys to rescue you from a burning building. One way he said would be for folks not to walk around from room to room with open shovels full of embers dropping like the crumbs of some kid eating a cookie without a plate. Otherwise, the next thing you know, you’re trapped in a burning house leaping out of your window . . . and, too bad you didn’t put a lid on that shovel.

  Put a lid on your shovel. Put a lid on your sister! That’s not a bad motto, he chuckled to himself. Fire prevention. That’s a pretty good working idea. He liked it. This inspired him to see what other wisdom Benjamin Franklin had.

  Ha! He said, “Haste makes waste?” I had no idea that was Ben Franklin, Dewey thought. He read on. “Honesty is the best policy” was his, too? “Early to bed, early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise.” Dewey knew that one was his from school. He read on, reading a bunch of other great sayings, and following the links to different pages until he stumbled upon this nugget—an essay he wrote in 1780 to the Royal Academy of Brussels: “It is universally well known, That in digesting our common Food, there is created or produced in the Bowels of human Créatures, a great Quantity of Wind.” Dewey laughed! Benjamin Franklin wrote an essay on farting! Why didn’t they teach this stuff in school?!

  “Dewey?” Mrs. Disk poked her head in the mudroom.

  He’d gotten caught up in Benjamin Franklin’s proposal that they invent some drug to mix into food so when people fart it doesn’t stink as much. Thomas Edison invented the light bulb. Eli Whitney invented the cotton gin. Benjamin Franklin his bifocals. But turning farts into perfume? No one had mentioned that! All caught up in these thoughts, he jumped when Mrs. Disk entered. Lost in his thoughts, he’d forgotten where he was and the mission at hand.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “Oh, no, that’s okay.”

  “Well, it’s just a mess,” she sighed and sat down, picking up the completely clean plate.

  “Those were really good, thanks so much.”

  She didn’t seem to hear him. “Charles put each kid in their room to cool off.”

  “I’ve got some ideas,” Dewey said. “I’d like to pull it all together and meet with you both. Tomorrow afternoon in my office?” As he suggested it, Dewey pictured them squeezing their way again through the air ducts and thought better of it.

  “Actually, if you’d like, I can come here.”

  She nodded slowly as if her mind were elsewhere.

  “Mrs. Disk? Do you want me to come here?”

  “Yes,” she said still a bit distractedly. “Yes.” She said again this time looking at him with more focus. “Let’s do it now, shall we?”

  Now? Now! What? No, he wasn’t ready.

  “Perfect. I’ll get Charles. Let’s meet in the yard. It’s lovely out. The kids are in their rooms, and we’ll have some privacy.”

  “Um,”

  She looked at him waiting.

  “Okay,” he said slowly.

  “Just go out the back door, and we’ll be out in a few minutes.”

  Dewey sat alone on the bench. He swallowed hard.

  There was no time to consult with Clara. No time to finish percolating. He thought of Jedd, all alone out in that lake treading water, with no bottom below.

  “Okay,” he said again, this time as he slapped his legs and stood up.

  The yard was bigger than he expected. A long green grass ran along the length of the house with a soccer net at the end. A patio lined the side closest to the house with an outdoor couch, a long dining set, and an outdoor BBQ. Dewey sat down at the table, hoping for a few minutes more to gather his thoughts. Mr. Disk came out with a tray of glasses and Mrs. Disk with a pitcher of what looked like lemonade.

  “Here we are,” she said pleasantly. “We’ll take nothing short of you rescuing us.” She set out the tall iced-filled glasses as her husband poured the lemonade.

  “That, or build me a guesthouse. I can’t take it anymore,” Mr. Disk said.

  Then silence as they both looked at him with hope and anticipation.

  Dewey took a swig of lemonade and wiped off his upper lip.

  “Well,” he began treading water, “Perhaps Benjamin Franklin said it best.” He pulled out his phone and went to his history, searching for something, anything that might help him.

  “‘Fish and visitors stink in three days.’”

  “Well, I suppose that’s true,” Mr. Disk said, laughing.

  “Right,” Dewey said. So, maybe that’s true for siblings because we, er, um, they just end up being together a lot, you know?”

  “Yes, yes,” Mrs. Disk leaned in, interested in Dewey’s observations.

  Hang on, man, Dewey thought, sensing there might be a shore out there somewhere.

  “And,” he glanced down at his phone again, scanning it quickly. “Of course there’s also, ‘He that sows Thorns, should never go barefoot.’”

  Dewey had no good idea where to go with this one. He felt his face flush hot red.

  “Right. . .right!” Mr. Disk nodded slowly. “The kids treat one another badly but they actually get hurt themselves in the process. Is that it?”

  “Right,” Dewey said nodding up and down. He felt one of his feet hit the bottom of his imaginary lake, and knew he could bring himself back to shore. “I think so. Efren wants to be left alone, but Louise wants his attention. ”

  “Yes, that’s right,” Mrs. Disk nodded, pouring more lemonade into Dewey’s glass. At this rate, Dewey thought, he was going to make a lake of his own soon.

  Dewey continued. “Efren pricks Louise just by not wanting to be with her. Then she gets all in his business, messes something up, that pricks him and he pricks her back.”

  Both Disks nodded their heads so hard Dewey thought one of them might lose one.

  He looked down at his phone again.

  “But,” he said, raising his pointer finger sagely, ‘He that sows thorns’ really shouldn’t walk around barefoot. So, I think,” Dewey concluded bringing it all home, “if we could just get Efren to give her some focused time she’d back off.

  “And that fish wouldn’t stink so much!”

  “Right,” Dewey said.

  Working with parents is cool, Dewey thought. Just give them some string and they help you sew the whole outfit!

  Mrs. Disk jumped up and threw her arms around him. Mr. Disk shook his hand again and again so many times Dewey felt it moving long after he’d returned to the office.

  “That’s terrific, boss,” Clara smiled warmly when he recounted the details. She handed him a glass of cool milk and a plate of German chocolate-cake cookies.

  “Right?” Dewey said, popping one in his mouth. “I was just hoping I could pull it all off!”

  “‘He that lives upon hope, dies farting.’”

  “What?!” Dewey burst out laughing. He had to catch the milk from spraying out of his mouth. “I can’t believe you just said that, Clara!”

  “I didn’t. Benjamin Franklin did.”

  Pig Iron

  Dewey and his friends sat out on the benches at school. The grass was still damp. It was late May, and June Gloom had arrived. June Gloom—that distinctly South
ern California weather pattern where the air has begun to get warmer, but the Pacific Ocean is still cold, resulting in condensation like a soda can out of the fridge on a hot day. Clouds, kind of drippy, wet, and grey, hung low as a marine layer all morning and would burn off in the afternoon. June Gloom weather forecasts always sounded the same—“Morning low clouds giving way to sunny skies, highs will be in the mid-seventies (or low eighties).” Dewey had heard it his whole life.

  “What is this? I thought California was warm and sunny! I could have stayed in Washington if I wanted gray drizzle days like this,” Elinor said.

  “June Gloom,” Dewey said.

  “May Gray,” Seraphina nodded.

  “No sky July. August Fogust!” laughed Colin.

  “What? This goes on all summer?!”

  “Stop. You’re scaring her.”

  “Usually just the beginning of summer,” Seraphina laughed. “It burns off by lunch. You gotta bring a sweatshirt in the morning.”

  “In California? Ugh.”

  “I know. It frizzes my hair,” Seraphina said, twisting her long wavy brown hair into a knot.

  “Me, too,” laughed Colin.

  “I like it. Not too hot that way. September’s summer. Ridiculously hot as soon as school gets going. And no air conditioning.”

  “What?” asked Elinor.

  “California. Don’t need it, I guess. We do, though. We sweat like pigs in there.”

  “They’re getting air soon,” Seraphina said. “It’s in the new plans.”

  “Do pigs sweat?” Dewey asked.

  “Huh?”

  “You know, do pigs sweat?”

  “I don’t think so. Isn’t that why they roll around in the mud? To cool off?”

  “That’s right.”

  “This is such a Dewey conversation.”

  “Well, then it makes no sense. Why would you ‘sweat like a pig’ when they don’t sweat?

  “Takis. Gimme one!”

  “Take.”

  “Ah ha! Nothing to do with pigs,” Seraphina said, reading from her phone. “Pig iron. It sweats when it gets hot.”

  “Disappointing. I wanted it to be about pigs.”

  Elinor held up a picture she’d been drawing. It was a little manga girl with big round eyes wearing a pink pig hoodie costume. The top of the page said, “June Gloomy.”

  “How’d you do that so fast?!”

  “Elinor shrugged.

  “It’s ironic. June in California is gloomy, but I’m feeling pretty happy to be here.”

  Why Not

  Two weeks later, satisfied customers, Efren and Louise’s parents offered to pay Dewey for his services. As long as he’d been in the business of problem solving, the idea of earning money for it had never once presented itself.

  “I don’t know how we can ever truly repay you,” Mr. Disk wrote in an email. “How much do we owe you for a job well done?”

  “Owe me?” Dewey asked Clara. “That’s a funny thought. Grown-ups pay for these services!”

  “Yes, I suppose they do.”

  “I don’t know, Clara. They also need a whole new entry system,” he said, looking up at the ducts and Garage Gator. Grown-ups crawling along air ducts was not ideal.

  “That’s true, too, sir.”

  “Can’t we just keep things as they are?”

  “Why not?”

  Dewey emailed back: “‘I’m so glad things are working out. Thank you for your offer for’ —what’s that big word for payment that sounds like ruminating? —”

  “Remuneration.”

  “Right. ‘Thank you for your offer for re-nu-mer-ation. It’s more of a hobby—’ No, ‘craft, of mine.’ My payment is that we solved your problem!’ There. That’s good, right?”

  “Right.”

  He sent it off.

  “Phew,’ Dewey said as he plopped onto the couch. Maybe he’d watch something on their big screen, or take a nap. This had been quite a day. It had been quite a year.

  Out of the corner of Dewey’s eye, he saw Wolfie run over to the big lime green landing pillow. He greeted, not one, not two, not three, but four people, one bigger than the next, each shooting down the slide and tumbling into his office.

  Pooh Bear, Stephanie, Mom, and Dad landed, each one on top of the next.

  “See!” Pooh said. “What’d I tell you!”

  Acknowledgments

  Truth is, in a process like this one, there are lots of folks who were of great help. They were pulling for me, some without me knowing, because their own lives run so busy, fast, and full. I begin by thanking them. I suspect that their collective good wishes carried my little writing thoughts from dock out to sea. Thank you all for your good thoughts and wishing me well.

  The writer’s life is a bit like a heroic quest. So many of us experience what Joseph Campbell called “the refusal of the summons,” as motherhood, fear of failure, fear of success, and a sense of inadequacy fill our heads instead of our pages. And then appears the magical helper who mentors us and says our quest can be done. For me, that person is CJ. Thank you for telling me to write. Again and again. Thank you to Jay Gordon for loving me enough to let me go, and still send me XOXOs and celebrate my successes on this journey.

  To Dayna Anderson and all of Amberjack Publishing, who loved the concept of Dewey and brought it to others; my editor, Cherrita Lee, who cheers me on, encourages me, and helps me work through ideas; and my agent, Rebecca Angus, who not only represents me, but is an editor with a keen eye. I’m so fortunate to have the great artist, Agnieszka Grochalska, design my covers. That she brings my words to life from across the globe, where my husband’s mother was born, has a lovely symmetry to it.

  Stephanie Humphrey read my very first full Dewey draft and gave me feedback. I’m forever grateful for her time and care early in the process. Elinor was the first kid to ask to read my book, tucking Dewey among her clothes for her plane ride home. Katie let me use her real-life letter to her brother! Charlie, be nice! Joanna Van Trees and Julie Sisk have been true blue; Haleh Stahl offers such good advice; and my cousin, Vicki Winthrop, makes my heart sing and touches me day in and day out. Thank you to my husband, Bryan, for his never-ending love and support of me as well as my writing, and for being my partner in this journey called life. My son, Florian, inspires these books and inspires me. His very being has taught me that life does not always go as one plans, and therein lies magic. To Michael Ungar, who decided that this was the year to adopt us and finally made an honest daughter out of me. Thanks for being one of my biggest fans! Paula Rozomofsky, Horn Ungar, Elizabeth Sanders, Richard Friedman, and Rela Cravens—you have proven again and again that family shows up. Maybe that’s why Dewey has such a good head on his shoulders. And when the going gets nuts, thanks to the Ks for making this problem-solving adventure more fun.

  About the Author

  Lorri Horn is the author of the Kirkus starred novel Dewey Fairchild, Parent Problem Solver, which was listed as one of the Best Middle-Grade Books of 2017 by Kirkus Reviews.

  Lorri spent her childhood days in California and has been working with kids all her life. She got her first babysitting job when she was nine years old, became a camp counselor, and went on to be a teacher.

  Fascinated by the origins of behavior, Lorri spent a few years studying cercopithecus aethiops (vervet monkeys) and thought she’d become a famous biological anthropologist. But it turns out there’s a decent amount of camping involved in that career. Plus, while it was fascinating to study and observe our little non-human primate brothers and sisters, Lorri found it much more rewarding to share a good book with a kid. Not once did those vervets gather round for story-time.

  So Lorri became an educator and an author for humans, who, admittedly, sometimes monkey around. She has a degree in English, a teaching credential, has been Nationally Board Certified, and has taught public school for over 14 years.

  She loves cheese (if she had to choose bet
ween cheese and chocolate on a deserted island, she’d have to say cheese—and that’s saying a whole lot, because she’s not sure how’d she live without chocolate), humor, baking, books, and spending time with her husband, son, and their dog—you guessed it—Wolfie.

  1. https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/pdf/10.1111/j.2044-835X.2011.02027.x?

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