Sugar House (9780991192519)

by Scheffler, Jean

  The kitchen clean, Joe sat down at the table with Ojciec to teach him the Star-Spangled Banner. First, Joe wrote the words out in Polish and then in English underneath, helping his father with the pronunciation of some of the more difficult words. Ojciec learned quickly.

  "There are three more verses, but no one sings them," Joe told Ojciec.

  "Why not?"

  "Not sure. I don't know them either. The nuns just teach us the first one."

  ***

  "And he slid into the second baseman, almost stabbing him with his cleats!" Joe was regaling the story of the Tigers game to four of his classmates on the steps of the school the following morning.

  "I heard Ty Cobb beat up a man who had no hands a couple of years ago," volunteered an older boy named Paul.

  "Uh Uh."

  "No way."

  The boys argued at once.

  Paul said, "Yeah, my father told me. Three years ago there was this fan in the crowd heckling Cobb while he was in the outfield, see? Well, Cobb gets mad as a hornet and jumps the wall and starts waling on the guy. The guy's friends yell, 'He's only got two fingers! Don't hit him.' The loudmouth fan was missing a hand and had only two fingers on the other!" Paul had the undivided attention of the group. "So Cobb stops for a second, looks at the guy and punches him square in the jaw again and says 'I don't care if he has no feet!'"

  "No way!"

  "My dad says he is off his rocker!"

  "Best man that ever played the game though." Everyone agreed with that sentiment.

  The chiming of the church bells interrupted the conversation. The boys grabbed their lunch pails and books and headed for the school door. They left their belongings in the classroom and lined up in the hall to walk to morning Mass. Sister Mary Monica roughly pulled Joe aside as he found his place in line.

  "Are you planning on running in Our Father's holy church this morning, Joseph? Disrespecting the Lord your God? Maybe defiling a sacred statue of a saint or washing up in the Holy Water Fount?" she whispered viciously under her breath.

  "No Sister," Joe replied, startled and scared at the sudden attack.

  "I saw you running down the aisle after Mass yesterday like you were in a race against the devil. I will address you after Mass, Joseph."

  Joe's little hands trembled as he held them together in prayer at Mass. He ferociously prayed to the Blessed Mother to watch over him and to keep Sister Mary Monica from doling out a severe punishment. But he knew his prayers would likely be in vain. The nuns were not known for their kindnesses on a good day. Running in church would likely mean a paddling in front of the class or worse.

  "Go straight to Father Gatowski's office, Joseph. He is expecting you," Sister Mary Monica commanded when the class had returned to their room.

  Joe dragged his feet down the small, dark hallway toward the priest's office. Portraits of saints stared down at him in an accusing manner from the walls. He didn't know which saint was the patron of children, and wished he had paid more attention to Sister Mary Monica's lessons so he could pray to him now. Reaching the wooden door at the end of the hallway, Joe held his hand up and knocked lightly.

  "Come in!" thundered a deep voice from within. Joe turned the large brass doorknob slowly and opened the door. Peering in around the doorframe, he could see the priest standing at the window looking out onto the construction of the new school.

  "Sir, Father… It's Joe Jopolowski. Sister Mary Monica sent me to see you," Joe whispered.

  "Close the door, Joe."

  Joe closed the door softly and turned to face the priest. Father Gatowski walked over to his large wooden desk and sat down behind it.

  "Come Joe, stand before me," Father said sternly.

  Joe walked to the desk and stood before the priest. He stood on his tiptoes hoping the priest would not notice that he could barely see above the desk. The priest attempted to hide a smirk as the young boy tried to balance his weight on his toes.

  "What transgression has brought you to my office, Joe?" asked Father Gatowski.

  "Running in church, Father."

  "I didn't see you run in church today, son. All the boys and girls filed out very quietly as I recall," he stated.

  "Not today, Father, it was yesterday, after Mass," Joe replied, looking down at his feet.

  "Ah, yes. I thought I saw a small blur flying out of the church, but I thought it was the Holy Spirit heading for some fresh air," said Father Gatowski. However, Joe was too nervous to notice the priest's gentle voice.

  "No Father, I mean, maybe it was, Father, but it was also me. I ran down the aisle after Mass."

  "Why were you in such a hurry, Joe? Did you have nothing to pray for? Perhaps the world is at peace and all hunger has ended? Or perhaps you just did not feel like praying?" The priest settled into his chair.

  "No, Father. I mean, I prayed hard but I was in a hurry to leave because my Ojciec and I were going to the Tigers game after Mass."

  "Well, baseball is not an excuse for impudence, Joe, Eeven when the great Georgia Peach is playing. Do you understand?"

  Joe looked up from his feet for the first time and his eyes met the priest's. He was so astonished to hear Cobb's nickname being used by Father Gatowski, he didn't respond at first.

  "Joe, do you understand?" Father repeated.

  "Yes, Father," Joe responded quickly, stunned to realize the priest was smiling.

  "Wish I could have been at that game. Can't let the parishioners see me out on a Sunday at a ballgame, though. Sundays are God's day of rest. Stole his ninety-sixth base of the season, huh? God bless our Tigers. Not the best reputation, Mr. Cobb has. He likes people to think he is mean and ruthless, which he is on the field, and sometimes off for sure. But most don't know he can be a kind man also. He let one of our boys catch fungoes during batting practice, and he gave another a job as a stile boy. Tigers pay him twenty-five cents a game and he gets to watch for free."

  Father Gatowski rose from his chair and walked to the front of the desk. He looked down at Joe.

  "No man is without sin and no man without good. And neither are small boys, I think." He laughed softly. "Say four Hail Marys and ten Our Fathers, and your crime is forgiven, son. Now return to your classroom and tell Sister Mary Monica you have received your punishment. Don't let on what it is, now. Wouldn't hurt my reputation if you look contrite when you go back, either."

  Joe thanked the priest and walked back into the hallway. Father Gatowski, a baseball fan! What luck! He had thought being sent down to the priest's office would be a far worse punishment than a paddling before his classmates. That large wooden paddle with holes that hung behind Sister's desk provided a fierce wallop to many a little boy's behind.

  Sister Mary Monica was at the front of the classroom discussing the upcoming St. Josaphat's festivities when Joe slipped quietly into his chair. She gave Joe a stern look but continued on without further notice.

  "As the class marches in procession we will sing 'Boze, Cos Polske' (God Bless Poland) " she continued. "And our class will learn 'Veni Creator Spiritus.' We will sing this for the bishop before the dedication ceremony on the steps of the church. I expect that every child will sing reverently and with his best voice for his Holiness. We will practice these hymns every day after Mass, allowing more than enough time for them to be learned. Your class is the only one that has been chosen to sing for the bishop, and it is quite an honor."

  Chapter Nine

  Halloween had not been celebrated much in the Upper Peninsula, but Joe was catching on quickly. He and Matka went to Kresge's and bought some witch and pumpkin postcards. They pasted them on the front window of their house. Matka also purchased a black and orange crepe apron decorated with black cats for herself and a similar one with a flying witch for Aunt Hattie. On All Hallow's Eve, Ojciec helped Joe carve a small pumpkin, and Joe placed it on the steps of their porch. Matka gave Joe a candle for it and placed several lit candles on the railing of the porch.

  "Can we bob for apples now?"
Pauline asked as the two families gathered on the front porch. Beautiful red apples floated in the wooden washtub on the corner of the porch, and the children were impatient for their small party to begin.

  "In a minute, Pauline," Aunt Hattie replied, as she came out her front door with a plate of homemade doughnuts in her hand. Uncle Alexy poured a cup of warm apple cider and handed it to Joe. Joe took the warm doughnut, dipped it into his glass, and shoved the entire thing into his mouth.

  "Good doughnuts, Aunt Hattie," he mumbled, mouth full.

  "Manners, Joe! And thank you," she replied, taking a cup of cider from her husband. "Why don't you light the big winter turnips your father carved and put them in the windows?" Joe grabbed some matches from the kitchen and lit a candle in a large turnip his father had carved with a devilish face. Ojciec said his family had always carved turnips in Poland on All Hallows' Eve to ward off evil spirits.

  Uncle Feliks made a rare appearance and brought a roll of Life Savers, a Hershey Milk Chocolate Bar, and a bottle of Faygo soda pop for each of his nieces and nephews. Aunt Hattie grimaced at Matka when the bachelor brother sauntered up the walkway. Matka whispered, "Być miły" (Be nice) and told Joe to get Uncle Feliks a beer. Joe's uncle produced two pretty, silver barrettes, one for each of his sisters-in-law, saying, "A small blossom for the two prettiest flowers in the Jopolowski family garden."

  Looking at the flowered hair clip, Matka said, "The flower engraved on this barrette reminds me of the red poppies that grew in my village." She removed her babushka, straightened her hair and slipped the clip into place above her left ear. Aunt Hattie didn't don hers but smiled warmly and offered Uncle Feliks a doughnut.

  The men sat on Joe's porch and smoked cigars that Uncle Feliks had brought and discussed work. Finally the children were allowed to bob for apples. Pauline, the most determined, soaked her whole head and was sent in the house to towel off. The family laughed good-naturedly at her bravado. Marya assisted Emilia and Frank with the apples, and Joe pretended to help so he could listen to his mother and Aunt discuss his rogue uncle.

  Matka said, "It was so nice of Feliks to bring treats for all of us. I wish he would come and live with us. Mikołaj would be so happy, and we have the room."

  "With the baby coming, Blanca? That would be difficult. And besides, Feliks would have to give up drinking in the taverns to dawn and cavorting with all his women."

  "Oh, Hattie, Mikołaj says he doesn't drink that much—he just likes to gamble. The bars now have a way to wire in the scores of the games, and he just likes to put down a friendly wager."

  "You are completely naïve, Blanca. But let's not ruin the evening by discussing it further. Joe? Isn't it your turn to bob for an apple?"

  Joe splashed water onto the porch as he bobbed for his apple, and Marya glared at him.

  "Joe! Please be careful!" she snapped.

  Joe looked up at his blonde cousin and smiled sweetly. "Sorry Marya. Why don't you take your turn now? I am sure with that mouth of yours you will be able to grab an apple without spilling a drop."

  "Aunt Blanca! Did you hear what Joe said?" Marya pouted at his mother.

  "Joe, be nice to your cousin. And your splashing is going to get her pretty costume all wet."

  Joe said, "I'm sorry, Marya," but inside he was rolling with laughter. Most children didn't wear costumes on Halloween, but Marya had begged her mother to make her a black witch's costume out of crepe paper, pointed hat included. Joe felt there had never been an outfit more suited for his bossy cousin. Pauline dressed like the Statue of Liberty in a red, white, and blue dress; and the baby was dressed all in white with a cap of white feathers to signify that she was an angel.

  After bobbing for apples with his cousins and eating three doughnuts, Joe asked his parents if he could meet his friends. "Don't get into too much mischief!" Ojciec called after him.

  Joe ran down the street and across the two blocks to meet a bunch of his classmates at the schoolyard. Six boys were already sitting on the steps of the cathedral when he arrived. Joe sat on the bottom step next to Sam and listened to tales of previous Halloweens. Ten-year-olds, Franz and Tall Paul, were the last to arrive.

  "Well, ninnies… what are we going to do?" Franz asked.

  "Let's soap some windows!"

  "Let's tip an outhouse!"

  "Open some barn doors and let their horses out!"

  Franz stared down at the boys with a mischievous smile. "All good ideas, my boys, all good. Where should we start?"

  "Let's head to Black Bottom!" yelled Tall Paul. The boys whooped and hollered, running down the sidewalk. Red, yellow and brown leaves crunched under their small feet as they headed toward a night of adventure. The sound of laughter from Halloween parties percolated around them and mingled with the sounds of their own merriment. The sun was beginning to set, and an orange glow fell over the city. Candles and glittering pumpkins flickered in the windows of the homes they passed. The evening air was beginning to cool, and the smells of burning firewood and home-cooked meals accompanied the rambunctious group on their short journey out of the safety of their stomping ground.

  In a few short blocks they arrived at the neighborhood where the poor Jews and coloreds lived. The houses were run down here. Porches sagged, and garbage littered the alleys. Strange smells drifted into the street. The boys grouped closer and grew quiet. They gathered in a circle in a dark corner of an alley to discuss their plans. Joe's eyes scanned the sidewalks for adversaries. It seemed damp in this forgotten neighborhood, and he shivered under his thin coat.

  The name Black Bottom had originally referred to the rich, dark soil that covered the lower east side of the city. Many ethnic groups had established their homes in this area in the late part of the nineteenth century. They had farmed small plots of land on the fertile ground and built stores and houses. But as the years passed, they had moved upward into better neighborhoods and left the ostracized Jewish people and the newly arriving southern Negroes behind, resulting in an altogether different connotation of the phrase Black Bottom.

  One of the boys produced a few bars of soap from his pockets and distributed them among the group.

  "Let's grab some garbage from back here and dump it in their front yards," suggested a small boy from Joe's class.

  "I'm not touching some Jew's leftovers," replied Franz.

  The other boys nodded in agreement following the older boys' lead. The boys continued walking quietly down the dark alley looking for a good opportunity for some trouble. Several houses down, Franz spotted an open gate.

  "Hey, let's sneak in there and turn over their outhouse!" Paul agreed, eager to show his courage, but the smaller boys were less enthusiastic.

  "I don't know, Franz," replied Joe. "If we do that first won't they hear us and chase us out of here before we do any tricks?"

  "Yeah, I guess you're right, Joe. We'll do that at the end of the night for our final hurrah," Franz said. Joe was surprised to know that the older boy knew his name. "All right, enough talk, boys… let's have some fun."

  The boys darted through the streets, soaping car windows and overturning flowerpots. When they reached Hastings Street, the center of the neighborhood, they gathered again. Paul jimmied a lock on a small barn door in the back of a Jewish market. The boys wheeled out a wooden wagon and pulled it around the block. The wagon creaked as they rolled it down the street and Joe looked around nervously. A tall man with a long gray beard and small cap on the back of his head looked over at the group as he locked up his storefront but said nothing. The boys waited till the man turned the corner and pushed the wagon to the entrance of the market, blocking the door. Running and laughing down the street they chanted "Sztuczka! Sztuczka!" (Trick! Trick!)

  Pushing deeper into Black Bottom, they entered the area the Negroes inhabited. Here, light was scarce, as there were no gas or electric streetlights. The street was eerily quiet. Only the sound of a crying baby reached their ears.

  "Grab some old tires, wood or broken f
urniture, and meet me at the end of the street," Tall Paul said, pointing to a rundown house a block away. Joe found the remains of what had been a small suitcase and carried it to the designated location. When he neared the side of the house he saw Paul hanging halfway up a wooden trellis, holding a flat tire. Paul shinned up and down the trellis carrying the items the boys had found and piled them comically on the edge of the home's roof. The boys laughed and guffawed until a light appeared in the upper bedroom and they ran for cover.

  As the group headed back toward their neighborhood, Franz stopped and grabbed a wooden cart that was sitting on one of the small front yards and began to pull it down the street. When they reached the corner that separated the Polish and Jewish neighborhoods, Franz pulled it into the middle of the street.

  "Grab some kindling, boys!" he commanded. The boys ran around to the alley looking for scraps of paper and cloth. Quickly they amassed a large quantity of discarded goods and placed them in the pushcart. Franz produced a box of matches from his jacket pocket. Soon the papers caught and the cart was in flames.

  Suddenly in the light of the bonfire, another group of boys appeared on the other side of the street. Joe could not see the faces of the boys, but he could tell by their body language there was going to be trouble. As the enemy group got closer, Joe noticed a few were carrying wooden sticks and clubs. The Polish boys slowly edged backwards, trying to find cover in the darkness of the night. Joe and his friends turned to run but were stopped in their tracks by three older boys blocking their way.

  "Not so tough now, are ya?" the tallest questioned.

  "Yeah, they're just a bunch of yellow-bellied cowards, huh, Abe?" replied the shortest of the three.

  The Polish boys now found themselves surrounded by the older Jewish boys. Franz and Paul stood with their shoulders back to in an attempt to appear larger, but they were no match for the teenagers.