The Paper Cowboy

by Kristin Levine

  “No,” he agreed, and smiled.

  Mom walked out then, carrying some more brown paper. She put it on the ground, and I started to ball it up, placing it around Dad’s box.

  “Don’t light it yet,” Mom said suddenly, and hurried back to the house. She returned a moment later, clutching something small and round in her hand. “Tommy,” Mom said quietly, “I have one more thing for you to burn.” She placed the item into my palm.

  It was Dad’s belt. The one Mom always used for the beatings. I looked up at her. Her face was quiet and still, her eyes calm.

  “That’s my best belt,” said Dad.

  “You’ve got others,” Mom said.

  Dad nodded and Mom smiled at me. My hands shook a bit as I placed the coiled belt carefully on top of the trash and the box. “Can I light it this time?”

  Dad hesitated a moment, then handed me the matches.

  I leaned over and cupped my hands. The match sprang to life and I tossed it into the pile.

  The paper balls caught fire at once and flared brightly, like flowers in the desert bursting into bloom after a thunderstorm. The belt twisted like a snake as it burned. The box glowed red, a blazing treasure chest, until it collapsed in on itself, and I couldn’t make out any shapes in the orangeyellow blaze.

  My dad took my mom’s hand as they stood together and watched the flames. I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned to see Mary Lou, standing behind me.

  “What are you doing out here?” I asked.

  “I had to come see,” she said. “Can’t be afraid forever.”

  I took my sister’s hand in my own and we watched the fire burn. When it was only coals, we turned and went to catch the bus for school.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  I love to base my stories on real events. My first book, The Best Bad Luck I Ever Had, was loosely based on my maternal grandfather’s memoirs. My second, The Lions of Little Rock, was inspired by my mother’s childhood in Arkansas. So for my third book, I decided to focus on a period from my father’s life.

  My dad, otherwise known as Tommy to those who knew him at the time, grew up in Downers Grove, Illinois, a small town just outside of Chicago. In some ways, it was an idyllic 1950s childhood, with a loyal dog named Boots, a paper route full of friendly customers, double features at the local movie theater, lots of friends at a beloved school, and even a local pond to skate on in the winter.

  But in other ways, Tommy’s life was full of challenges. His mother, a loving and caring woman, struggled with mood swings that, although undiagnosed at the time, would most certainly be seen as a form of mental illness today. In addition, his sister, Mary Lou, was indeed severely burned in a fire, much as described in this story. In my previous books, the main characters came from stable, supportive households. I wondered what it would be like to write about a character for whom that was not the case.

  A few additional aspects of my father’s story intrigued me. One was that my dad, when talking to me about his childhood, admitted that he had been something of a bully. He had felt much regret about it over the years. His admission reminded me of a chapter in the amazing book NurtureShock by Po Bronson and Ashley Merryman. In a nutshell, that book describes how many bullies aren’t the stereotypical “big hulking shadows” in the corner, but popular, well-adjusted kids who know exactly how far they can push things without getting caught.

  This was true of my father. He was a popular, well-liked boy at school. When he asked his childhood friends if they remembered him bullying others at school, they denied he had ever behaved that way. But he remembered it. And I was fascinated by the idea that bullying also harms the bully. So much focus is on the victims, and rightly so, but I believe if we really want to understand bullying, we have to look at the bullies too, without creating the belief that they are all horrible, irredeemable people.

  The second aspect of my father’s childhood that intrigued me was the time period. The early 1950s were consumed with fears of communism, and in many ways, the Cold War spilled over into my own childhood. As a child of the 1980s, communists were our bogeymen, the villains in the popular movies. As a child, I was terrified of a nuclear war. If there was one thing I knew, it was that communists were evil.

  And then in 1989 the Berlin Wall came down, and in 1991 the Soviet Union fell apart, and in 1992 I went to work as an au pair in Vienna, Austria. While I was living in Europe, I studied German at the local university. My class was filled with people from the old Soviet republics, Hungary, Poland, Czechoslovakia, Yugoslavia—real live former communists!

  Of course, what I discovered was that they were just normal men and women like me, with varying viewpoints and opinions. It’s been almost twenty years since I was in that class with the “former communists.” To this day, I think of them often, especially when dealing with people whose opinions or beliefs seem so foreign to me that I am tempted to dismiss them as simply being wrong. Because of that class in Austria, I always try to take a minute to understand a new point of view, even if I don’t agree with it.

  Finally, talking to my father about his childhood reinforced my belief in the importance of community. The old woman who lives next door might need some company. The annoying boy on the playground might be longing for a friend. Even when a parent is sick or a child injured, it’s not always easy to see the need or what to do about it. But when people do step in and help, when they take a chance and engage with their neighbors, amazing things can happen. My father greatly benefited from the close-knit community in 1950s Downers Grove. My hope for my readers is that they, much like Tommy in The Paper Cowboy, will never stop striving to find ways to create a supportive community in their own lives.

  Mary Lou before the fire

  A young Tommy and Roberta (Pinky)

  Mary Lou, Susie and Boots

  Prince Pond in the 1950s

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  So many people helped me with The Paper Cowboy!

  My research started with a wonderful trip my father and I took to Downers Grove. From that visit, I’d like to thank Mary Mengel from Dream Interiors for showing us priceless historical photos of the town, Raymond J. Jilek for graciously guiding us around his property and allowing us to look at the house where my dad grew up, and Ed Briner, an old friend of my father’s, who helped arrange a tour of St. Joseph Catholic Church and School. At St. Joseph’s, Rita Stasi, the principal, and Father Jerome Kish, the pastor, were welcoming and generous with their time. In addition, the Downers Grove Public Library, Anderson’s Bookshop, the Aurora Public Library, and the Downers Grove Historical Society all provided invaluable information and assistance.

  A number of my father’s childhood school friends generously answered questions about growing up in 1950s Downers Grove. Special thanks to Maralee Kopis, Mary Beth Doyle, Marlene Handscheigel, Jack Foley, Phil Verveer, Marianne Patty, Mary Ellen Heelan, Rita Mathern, Judy Everson, and Larry Cerny.

  I’d also like to thank some of the first readers of this manuscript. Jessie Auten and Debbie Gaydos, I greatly value both your opinions and your friendships. Cassie Beutelscheis, thanks for being an early teen reader and sharing your thoughts. My writing group—who suffered through about twenty-five different openings to this book—what would I do without you? Patty Pearson, Justine Moore, Kathi Morrison-Taylor, Mary Olson, Lela Faulkenberry, Olivia Burley, Linda Cortes, and Heather Quartetti all provided feedback and encouragement.

  My dear agent, Kathy Green, not only offered professional advice but was always willing to talk about non-book issues as well. My fabulous editor, Stacey Barney, provided me with insight into my own work, pushed me to make the story even more than I thought it could be, and was always understanding when I needed extra time to do so! Thanks, ladies, to both of you.

  I’d also like to thank Irene Vandervoot for working so hard to design just the right cover, Chandra
Wohleber for being an amazing copy editor, Marikka Tamura for designing the interior, and everyone else at Putnam for making the process of publishing a book go so smoothly.

  This book was written during a difficult time in my life. My “whine night” friends really helped me through it. So I just want to include a shout-out to Polly Papp, Diane Cramer, Maria Brandao, Allison MacMahon, and all my other old and new friends, who provided a listening ear when I needed one.

  In addition, I want to thank all my family members who made this book possible. Of course, I’d like to thank my immediate family for their invaluable support, including my father, “Tommy,” for his inspiring stories; my mother, Marlene, for hours of babysitting; and my sister, Erika, for her unwavering friendship. I’d also like to acknowledge my grandparents Robert and Florence, who died before I could know them well, my late aunt Mary Lou, my aunt Roberta (“Pinky”), my aunt Susan (“baby Susie”), my late uncle Bob, and my uncle Bill. You are all intimately bound in the backstory of this book.

  Finally, I want to thank my children, Charlotte and Kara, for being my greatest cheerleaders. And a special thanks to my ex-husband, Adam Levine, for being a great co-parent and a good friend.