by Bill Bernico
Matt smiled a broad smile and I knew I’d found an animal that wouldn’t scare him and that he could take care of and be responsible for. “Do you have a name picked out for him?” I said.
“How do you know it’s a him?” Gloria said, her arms folded across her chest.
I held the cage up higher, trying to see under the rodent. I lowered it again and looked at Gloria. “Beats me,” I said. “Can you tell?”
I set the cage on one of the kitchen chairs. Gloria opened the cage and to my surprise, reached in and pulled the Guinea Pig out by the scruff of its neck. She turned it upside down and then looked at Matt. “Do you have a name for her?” she said and put the animal back into the cage.
“Can I name her whatever I want?” Matt said.
Gloria and I exchanged glances and nodded. “Sure,” I told Matt. “What name did you have in mind?”
“Could I call her Daisy?” Matt said.
I narrowed my eyes. “Why would you want to call her Daisy?” I said. “I already have a dog with that name. It could get confusing.”
“Then how about Lassie?” Matt said.
Gloria held back a laugh and then said, “Lassie it is. Where are you going to keep her, Matt?”
“Can I keep her in my room on the dresser?” Matt said.
“Of course you can,” Gloria said and then thought of something else. “What are you going to feed her?”
I pulled a small bag from my jacket pocket and handed it to Gloria. “Almost forgot,” I said. “A quarter cup of this stuff every other day should do it. Don’t forget the water.”
Matt took the cage from my hand and carefully carried it to his bedroom. Gloria gave me a look after Matt had left the room. “Are you sure this is a good idea?” she said.
“It’ll give him something to care for,” I said. “It should teach him a little responsibility. Besides, Lassie can be his friend; someone, or should I say something to talk to.”
“Well,” Gloria said. “We’ll see how it works out.”
“Hey,” I said. “Maybe Lassie can be your watch dog.”
“Yeah, right,” Gloria said and then smiled. “But I’ll bet he couldn’t pull Timmy out of the well.”
I walked into the living room, whistling the old familiar tune to that old television show about a boy and his collie. Life was good. I couldn’t wait to get to work tomorrow and tell Daisy all about it.
108 - Go To Heller
September 5, 1910 was not an unusual day for the town of Santa Cruz, California, except for one couple, Douglas and Mary Heller. That was the day Mary gave birth to their only child, Edward Alan. Eddie, as he came to be known, came into this world on a crisp Monday night towards the end of summer, weighing in at just under seven pounds. Doug Heller always liked to tell people that his son had put Mary through nine hours of labor while the rest of the country was relaxing on Labor Day.
The doctor had arrived that night at the Heller House in his two-year-old Ford Model-T. Doc Hoskins did not buy one the first year Henry Ford introduced them, since they cost more than eight hundred dollars, a large sum even for a doctor in those days. Doc Hoskins waited two years and bought a used one for a little better than half of the new price. Two years after he’d bought his, the price of new Model-Ts dropped to five hundred twenty-five dollars and the doctor couldn’t get anywhere near what he paid for his used one so he decided to drive it until it fell apart. It never did. Doctor Lester Hoskins still had that Model-T when he died fourteen years later of a massive heart attack at the ripe old age of seventy-seven. The car ran solid for another eight years before the car’s next owner smashed it against a tree one winter night. Who knows how long it could have gone on?
Five months before Eddie made his appearance, author and humorist Mark Twain had died of a heart attack. He liked to tell folks that he was born in 1835, the year Haley’s Comet appeared, and that he’d hang around until it appeared again. He kept his word. Now it would be up to Edward Heller to follow suit and live until at least 1985, when the comet would once again make an appearance.
The year Eddie Heller was born was also notable as the year that The Boy Scouts of America was formed. Doug Heller promised his wife that Eddie would join as soon as he was old enough. Mary Heller never lived to see her son in the tan uniform and blue neckerchief. She contracted the flu when Eddie was just seven years old. Her body was not strong enough to fight off the effects and she passed away with her husband and son at her bedside. Doug Heller would have to raise Edward on his own. And that’s exactly what he did for the next fourteen years.
On his twenty-first birthday, young Eddie declared himself to be an adult and as close as he was to his father, Eddie decided that it was time he made his own way in the world. It was on a cloudy day in late September, 1931 that Doug Heller stood on the platform at the train station and wished young Edward well and hugged him just before the train pulled out of the station, heading for Los Angeles.
Eddie Heller, bag in hand, stepped up into the passenger car, stowed his bag under the seat and sat at the window, watching as the countryside sped by. The cow pastures and wheat fields soon gave way to buildings and paved streets and telephone wires. Los Angeles loomed in the distance with its newly constructed City Hall standing tall and proud.
As he stepped off the train in Los Angeles, Eddie marveled at the difference between this major city and the sleepy little town he’d left earlier that day. He felt more than just a few hundred miles away from home but he was determined to carve out a place for himself here.
The Great Depression was in full swing and jobs were scarce. But Eddie had one advantage that the other jobless men didn’t—he had a connection in Los Angeles. His Uncle Bob managed a movie theater in Hollywood and had promised Eddie that he’d have a job waiting for him when he got into town. It wasn’t one of the prestigious theaters on Hollywood Boulevard, like Grauman’s Chinese or The Pantages, but it still did a fair share of business and Eddie even got a crisp blue uniform and flashlight. The job didn’t pay as much as Eddie had hoped, but as a consolation, he got to stay rent free with his uncle Bob. His Aunt Rose was a terrific cook and he never went hungry.
One of the perks of Eddie’s new job was being able to see all the latest movies for free. He had never been much of a movie buff, but he was able to pick up so many trivial facts about the movies and its stars that he became somewhat of an authority on the subject.
Eddie’s job as an usher had kept him in room and board and additional spending money for several years, but he knew that this was not a career, just a job until something better came along. That something presented itself in the form of a traffic stop. Eddie was driving his Uncle Bob’s Chevrolet sedan one summer night when he was pulled over by a Los Angeles police officer.
“What did I do, officer?” Eddie asked as the cop approached his window.
“Please step out of the car, sir,” the officer told Eddie.
Eddie got out of the sedan and stood facing the officer, whose name, according to his name tag, was Sullivan. Officer Sullivan walked Eddie to the rear of the Chevy and pointed to the driver’s side taillight, which was broken.
“You have a broken taillight,” Officer Sullivan said. “I’ll write you a warning citation this time, but you have to get that fixed within five days or that citation will turn into a real ticket that will carry a ten dollar fine with it.”
Eddie sighed. “Oh, that’s all,” he said. “For a minute there, I thought I did something serious.”
“Not too serious,” Sullivan said, as he wrote the citation. “Just make sure you get it fixed in the allotted time and then bring the car to the precinct so I can sign off on the repairs. This won’t even go on your record.”
“Thank you, Officer Sullivan,” Eddie said, taking the ticket from the cop. “I’ll get it fixed tomorrow first thing. When can I catch you in to show you?”
“I’ll be in the precinct every morning until nine-thirty,” Sullivan said. “After that I’ll be ou
t on patrol.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” Eddie said and climbed behind the wheel of his uncle’s car.
Eddie drove straight to the nearest service station and had the attendant replace the broken red glass on the taillight. He paid the man a dollar ten for the lens and another thirty-five cents for labor and got a receipt before he drove the Chevy home again.
That night at dinner, just after Aunt Rose had set the food on the table, Eddie turned to Uncle Bob, his fork raised in the air. “Uncle Bob,” Eddie said, “this afternoon I was pulled over by the police for a broken taillight and I got a warning citation.”
“Don’t worry about it, Eddie, “Uncle Bob said. “I’ll take care of it tomorrow.”
Eddie waved him off. “No, that’s all right,” he said. “I already had it fixed.”
Uncle Bob stopped chewing, swallowed and said, “Well, then, just tell me what it cost and I’ll reimburse you.”
“That’s not why I brought it up,” Eddie said. “I’m going to take the receipt and the car to the precinct house tomorrow to show the cop that it’s been fixed and the citation will be forgotten. The point I’m trying to make is that after I was stopped today, I think I came to the realization that a cop is what I’d really like to be. I’m actually looking forward to talking to Officer Sullivan again tomorrow morning so I can ask him some questions about becoming a cop.”
“Did you say Sullivan?” Uncle Bob said and then exchanged glances with Aunt Rose.
“That’s what his name tag said,” Eddie told him. “Why?”
“Burt Sullivan?” Uncle Bob said.
“I don’t know,” Eddie said. “Sullivan was all the name tag had on it.”
“Was he tall?” Uncle Bob said. “Maybe six-one or six-two with brown wavy hair and blue eyes, in his late twenties?”
Eddie nodded slowly. “That’s a pretty accurate description,” he said. “Do you know him?”
Uncle Bob smiled and nodded. “I knew his dad very well,” he told Eddie. “I’ve known Burt since he was a boy.”
Aunt Rose scooped a spoonful of spinach onto her plate. “Are you talking about Myron’s boy?” she said. A slight smile crept onto her face.
“You know him, too?” Eddie said.
“We both knew him,” Rose said, the smile falling off her face. “He and your Uncle Bob served in the Army together in France during the war.”
Eddie turned to his uncle. “Knew him?” he said.
“Myron Sullivan was killed just a week before the war ended,” Uncle Bob said. “Burt was just a teenager back then. He took it hard.”
“Is that right?” Eddie said. He ate a forkful of potatoes and then added, “Man, what a small world this is. Would it be all right if I mentioned this to him tomorrow?”
Uncle Bob nodded. “Sure, Eddie,” he said. “And say hello for us when you see him. I’ll bet it’s been almost a year since I’ve seen that boy. Maybe you could invite him over some night.”
“I’ll do that tomorrow,” Eddie said.
The three of them finished their dinner without further mention of Burt or Myron Sullivan. The following morning Eddie folded his receipt, slipped it into his shirt pocket and drove to the Hollywood precinct to see Burt Sullivan. Eddie stopped an officer coming out of the building and asked where he could find Officer Sullivan. The cop, a young guy named Jerry Burns, directed Eddie to the front desk down the hall.
The sergeant behind the front desk looked up when Eddie approached him. “Good morning, sir,” the cop said. “How can I help you this morning?”
“I’m looking for Officer Burt Sullivan,” Eddie said, pulling the receipt from his pocket. “I need to show him my receipt for getting my taillight fixed. I think he wants to see the car himself.”
The sergeant nodded. “One minute, please,” he said and then pressed a button on his intercom system.
“Yes sir,” a female voice on the other end said.
“Would you locate Officer Sullivan and tell him there’s someone here to see him at the front desk?” the sergeant said.
“Right away, sir,” the woman said.
A minute later Officer Sullivan appeared at the front desk. He turned to the sergeant. “You wanted to see me, sir?” he said.
The sergeant gestured toward Eddie. “This young man asked to see you. He said you wanted to look at his car.”
Sullivan looked at Eddie, showing no sign of recognition at first. Then he remembered the traffic stop the day before. “Yes, of course,” Sullivan said. He snapped his fingers and pointed at Eddie but obviously couldn’t remember Eddie’s name.
“Eddie Heller,” Eddie said, holding out his repair receipt. “You told me to stop by after I got the taillight fixed.”
“That was fast,” Sullivan said.
“I told you I’d take care of it right away,” Eddie said. “Come on, the car’s out front. I can show you.” Eddie walked with the cop out to the curb and took him around to the back of the car and pointed to the new lens.
“That’s fixed, all right,” Sullivan said. “Let me have your receipt and the citation I gave you.”
Eddie handed over the two pieces of paper and the cop pulled his ticket book out of his rear pocket. He flipped through the book and found his copy of Eddie’s citation. He slipped Eddie’s copy under it and lined the two pieces up before he wrote across the front of the ticket, ‘REPAIRED’. He initialed it and handed Eddie back his copy, along with the receipt.
“Thanks for being so prompt,” Sullivan said. “You can’t believe how long it takes some people to comply with a citation. They end up paying a fine three times the size of what the repair bill would have been by the time they take care of it. Some of them even ignore the citation, hoping it’ll go away. Then, the next time they’re stopped, they could face jail for an overdue fine.”
“That’s just the way I am,” Eddie said. “I hate loose ends like a ticket, or a bill or a loose shoelace, for that matter.”
“Well,” Sullivan said. “Thanks for stopping by and taking care of this.” He started to turn.
“Wait a minute,” Eddie said.
“Was there something else?” Sullivan said.
“Yes,” Eddie said. “I was talking about this whole thing last night with my uncle and he told me he knew your dad and that he’s known you since you were a boy.”
Sullivan turned back around to face Eddie again. “Is that right?” he said. “Who is your uncle?”
“Robert Baldwin,” Eddie said.
“Bob and Rose Baldwin?” Sullivan said, smiling.
“That’s them,” Eddie said.
“Gees,” Sullivan said, “I’ll bet I haven’t see them in…”
“More than a year,” Eddie said. “At least that’s what Uncle Bob said last night at dinner. In fact he told me to ask you if you’d like to stop out some night soon and join us for dinner.”
Sullivan nodded. “I would,” he said. “I really would. I’d like to see them both again. What night would you like me?”
“Tonight?” Eddie said. “We’re having fried chicken and my Aunt Rose makes the best fried chicken I’ve ever tasted.”
“You don’t have to ask me twice,” Sullivan said. “Seven-thirty okay?”
“Perfect,” Eddie said. “Do you need their address?”
“Are they still out on Franklin Avenue?” Sullivan said.
“That’s the place,” Eddie said. “Then I guess we’ll see you tonight.”
Sullivan gave the gunman’s salute and nodded. “Seven-thirty sharp,” he said and walked back into the precinct.
Eddie drove his uncle’s Chevy home again and told his aunt what he’d promised Burt Sullivan for supper. She laid her hand on Eddie’s shoulder. “I’ll be good to see Burt again,” she said.
Eddie joined his uncle at the theater later that morning and helped him get the place ready for the afternoon performances of the double feature that would be playing there all this week. Tarzan and His Mate with Johnny Wei
ssmuller was scheduled, along with Manhattan Melodrama, starring Clark Gable. Uncle Bob had plenty of help to keep the theater running even when he wasn’t there, so dinner with Burt Sullivan wouldn’t be a problem for either of them on this warm July night.
Eddie and Uncle Bob got home from the theater shortly before seven and quickly washed and changed their clothes for dinner. Burt arrived one minute early and was met at the door by Aunt Rose, who promptly wrapped her arms around Burt’s neck and pulled his to her.
“Burt Sullivan,” Aunt Rose said, stepping back to get a good look at the young man. “You’re a sight for sore eyes. How have you been?”
Before Burt could answer, Uncle Bob emerged from the bedroom wearing his new shirt and with his hair neatly combed. He smiled when he saw Burt standing in the kitchen. “Burt,” he said as he approached the cop.
“Bob,” Burt said, “how’s everything in the movie business? Are you getting younger?”
Uncle Bob smiled a broad smile and shook Burt’s hand. “Still know how to schmooze, don’t you?” he said. “Come on in and sit down. Dinner will be ready in a few minutes.”
Just as Uncle Bob and Burt sat down on the sofa, Eddie came out of his bedroom looking neater than he had all week. He smiled when he saw Burt sitting there talking to his uncle. He waved and stepped up to the sofa, shaking Burt’s hand. “Good to see you again, Officer Sullivan,” Eddie said.
“Not tonight,” Burt said. “Around here you can just call me Burt.”
“I’ll do that,” Eddie said and then added, “Did you smell that chicken when you walked in?”
“My mouth is watering just thinking about it,” Burt said.
As if on cue, Aunt Rose poked her head in the living room and announced, “Come and get it.”
None of us had to be asked twice. We all stood and hurried into the dining room where Aunt Rose had set a beautiful table, complete with a floral arrangement in the center. Uncle Bob sat at the head of the table in his usual chair. Aunt Rose and I sat across from each other and Burt sat opposite Uncle Bob. Aunt Rose passed the platter of chicken to the guest first. Burt took a piece and passed the platter to me. The mashed potatoes and whole corn made the rounds as well until everyone had what they needed.
