Jimmy

by Robert Whitlow

  “No, sir.”

  Grandpa didn’t answer for a second, then called out, “Four more digs! Keep tension on the belt!”

  Jimmy stepped down a few inches, regained the proper form, and slowly went up the final four digs. His head cleared the top of the pole. He leaned back against the belt and put his hand on top of the pole.

  Closing his eyes, he felt a cool breeze.

  When he looked down, Grandpa was dancing around the pole, whooping and yelling. Buster had joined the old man and barked and barked and barked.

  An explorer reaching the top of a mountain knows it is a moment to savor. Jimmy didn’t know anything about mountain-climbing rituals, but he didn’t want to depart the summit too quickly. He patted the top of the pole and inspected the place where the safety harness screwed into the wood.

  “Paint the top of the pole!” Grandpa cried out.

  Jimmy looked down, puzzled. “But no one will see it!”

  “But you’ll know it’s there! That’s all that counts.”

  Jimmy took out the can of paint and shook it. He could hear the little ball inside rattling around. Checking the spray arrow on the button to avoid a face full of paint, he quickly coated the top of the pole in white. Returning the paint can to his utility belt, he took a last look around and descended the pole. When he reached the ground, Grandpa stood back while Jimmy took off the safety belt. Then the old man stepped forward to give him a big hug. When he released him, Grandpa put his ear to Jimmy’s chest.

  “Why are you doing that, Grandpa?” Jimmy asked.

  “I’m listening to your heart.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I want to listen to the heart of a champion.”

  Jimmy returned to the step in front of the utility shed and began taking off his gear. He handed the climbing hooks to Grandpa.

  “I wish Daddy had been here,” Jimmy said.

  “Me too.”

  They stowed the climbing gear in the shed.

  “What am I going to do now that I’ve climbed the pole?” Jimmy asked.

  Grandpa stopped, put his hands on Jimmy’s shoulders, and looked directly into his eyes. “Anything you want. Do you believe that?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  They walked to the house.

  “I’m thirsty,” Jimmy said. “It was hot up there.”

  “A glass of lemonade to celebrate sounds good to me,” Grandpa said.

  Grandpa poured Jimmy’s drink, then left the room. In a minute, he returned with a medium-sized paper sack.

  “This is for you,” he said, handing the sack to Jimmy. “I didn’t wrap it up fancy, but I’ve been saving it for you.”

  Jimmy opened the bag and pulled out an old red cap. A stick figure with lightning bolts for arms and legs danced across the front. Underneath were the words, “A Citizen Wherever We Serve.”

  “It’s a Ready Kilowatt hat!” Jimmy said in an excited voice. “Is this your hat—”

  “No,” Grandpa interrupted. “I found it on the Internet and bought it to give you when you climbed to the top of the pole. It’s yours. You’ve earned it.”

  Jimmy slipped the cap on his head and looked up at Grandpa with a big grin.

  “My very own Ready Kilowatt hat!”

  WHEN HE RETURNED HOME, JIMMY PUT HIS READY KILOWATT cap in the middle of his collection. Mama watched from the doorway.

  “How do you like my new cap?” he asked.

  “It’s very nice. What did your daddy think about your accomplishment?”

  “I don’t know. He wasn’t there.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m not sure, but he told Grandpa it was okay.”

  Mama pressed her lips together. “We’ll discuss that when he gets home.”

  Jimmy continued. “I’m going to wear my new cap when Grandpa and I go fishing. There is a big carp contest in a few weeks at Webb’s Pond. Can I go?”

  “Maybe. I don’t want you climbing the pole anymore without your daddy there.”

  “Yes, ma’am. If I’m ever going to be a Georgia Power Company lineman, I have to be able to climb a lot better than I do now.”

  “Has Grandpa told you that you could be a lineman?” Mama asked in surprise.

  “No, ma’am, but he told me I could do anything I want. I’m not afraid of being up high in the air, and now I have my own Ready Kilowatt hat.”

  — Twenty-six —

  Twenty-nine days after Judge Reisinger signed the order prepared by Bruce Long, Jimmy’s birth mama filed an appeal.

  Daddy, Mama, and Jimmy were eating supper in the kitchen. Mama had fixed veal parmesan, rice, and fried okra. Jimmy liked veal parmesan but not as much as meat loaf.

  “I wish she’d given up.” Mama sighed. “What are her chances on appeal?”

  “Slim and none,” Daddy replied.

  “What does appeal mean?” Jimmy asked.

  “She wants some other judges to change Judge Reisinger’s decision.”

  Jimmy poked his fork into three pieces of okra at once. “Will they pray about it too?”

  “I don’t know,” Daddy answered. “But it will be close to a year before we know anything.”

  “I’ll be in high school,” Jimmy said.

  “You’ll be finished with ninth grade,” Mama said.

  “How do you feel about going to high school?” Daddy asked.

  “Okay, I guess.”

  When Jimmy thought about Cattaloochie County High School, with eight hundred students coming together from the county’s three middle schools, his stomach felt queasy. “Ninth grade is a big step,” Daddy said.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Have you thought about any extracurricular activities?”

  “What’s that?”

  “The high school has groups and teams that do things after school.”

  “I heard about a club that builds model rockets,” Mama said. “They also study the stars. You’d be good at painting the rockets. Do you think you would like that?”

  “I had something else in mind,” Daddy said, putting his napkin beside his plate. “I went by the stadium this afternoon and talked to Coach Nixon. The football team starts practice in a few weeks.”

  Jimmy put down his fork. Mama’s mouth dropped open.

  “Lee, you’ve got to be kidding. There is no way Jimmy should be on a football field.”

  “I disagree,” Daddy replied with a grin. “I think Jimmy is perfectly suited to be on a football field. They have an open spot for a manager, and Coach Nixon is interested in talking to Jimmy about the position.”

  “A manager?” Jimmy asked excitedly. “Who goes down on the field and rides in the bus with the team and stands behind the coaches and gives the players water and towels?”

  “And a lot of other things you’ll learn to do.”

  Jimmy forgot about his food. “When would I start?”

  “Two-a-day practices begin in four weeks, but first, you have to talk to Coach Nixon.”

  “What is he going to ask me?”

  “I’m not exactly sure—probably whether you’re a hard worker who will obey the rules.”

  Jimmy stared unseeing across the table, trying to imagine the interview as Daddy continued, “If you want to talk to him, I’ll take you tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  To be associated with the Cattaloochie County High School football team would be a thrill beyond words. Jimmy loved Friday night football. He also loved the band. He’d practiced drumming with two sticks on top of a metal trash can in the backyard. Mama told him it sounded great, but it didn’t sound right to his ears.

  The following day, Jimmy could hardly contain his excitement. Several times he asked Mama how long it would be until Daddy picked him up. The hours dragged by. Finally, Daddy turned into the driveway in front of the house. Jimmy opened the door, ran to the car, and got in.

  “Not that hat,” Daddy said. “Coach Nixon went to Auburn. Do you have the Cattaloochie cap I bought you
last year?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Jimmy returned the University of Georgia hat to its place and found the cap with a Cattaloochie Captain mascot on it. The short, bearded figure looked like a cross between a Confederate officer and a California gold rush prospector.

  “That’s better,” Daddy said.

  GRANDPA HAD ATTENDED PINEY GROVE HIGH, A SMALL, ALL-white school located within the city limits of Piney Grove. By the time Daddy and Mama reached high school age, the city and county schools had been brought together, combining city, county, black, and white. Everyone went to a new school, which made integration easier. Having a successful sports program that exceeded the accomplishments of the older split system helped even more.

  The high school, a mile beyond the city limits, was a collection of long, one-story, brown-brick classroom buildings surrounding a taller gymnasium in the middle. The football stadium lay several hundred yards south of the main campus. The athletic offices were beneath the home stands. Signs in front of the athletic department indicated reserved parking spaces for Coach Nixon and his secretary, Mrs. Bradford.

  Coach Nixon drove a small green sports car. Daddy parked beside his vehicle. Without any fans present, the stadium felt odd. Jimmy looked at the metal bleachers overhead. He never walked under the bleachers during a game. To do so might result in a shower from a spilled soft drink.

  The front door of the athletic office was unlocked. Daddy entered and turned right. At the end of a hallway stood a door with the words “Vance Nixon—Head Coach” written in gold letters. Daddy knocked lightly on the door.

  “Come in,” answered a nasally voice tinged with a slight lisp.

  Coach Nixon’s office covered the entire end of the building. In one corner was a large grease board with black and red X’s and O’s on it. A standard wooden school desk sat in the middle, and in the other corner rested the small bed where Coach Nixon slept every Thursday night during football season.

  Daddy and Uncle Bart spoke of Coach Nixon with awe. Sixty years old, Vance Nixon looked more like a badminton instructor than a football coach. Slightly built, the balding football coach weighed half as much as some of the team’s offensive linemen, yet he had the force of personality to intimidate a massive player being courted by Southeastern Conference football powerhouses. When angry, Coach Nixon would get on his toes in front of a player and berate him in a torrent of cutting words mixed with saliva. Uncle Bart said no player dared wipe away the spit before the coach turned away.

  Coach Nixon stood up from the chair behind his desk as they entered the room.

  “Good to see you, Lee,” Coach Nixon said.

  “You too, Coach. This is—,” Daddy began.

  “No need to introduce me to Jimmy,” the coach interrupted. “I’ve seen him at the games for years.”

  Jimmy’s eyes widened. He had no idea the coach knew he lived on planet Earth.

  “And,” Coach Nixon continued, “I know the sound of the horn on his bicycle.”

  “Did I honk at you?” Jimmy asked.

  “Yes. I was at a stoplight the other day, and you very clearly warned the drivers in all directions that you had arrived at the intersection. Are you always careful at stop signs?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Do you follow directions?” the coach asked.

  Jimmy hesitated. “When someone tells me how to get to a place I’ve never been before, I don’t always understand the right street to turn on. Mama and Daddy help me learn the way before I go by myself. But once I learn the way, I don’t get lost.”

  Coach Nixon smiled. “You have good parents.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Do you obey teachers and parents?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What do you know about the job of manager for the football team?”

  Jimmy carefully listed the tasks he’d observed: “Carry extra footballs, give the players water, put tape on players’ ankles, clean up the sidelines.”

  “That’s a good start,” Coach Nixon said, “but there is a lot more that happens before and after the game.”

  The coach launched into a lecture about the manager’s job. The longer he talked, the more nervous Jimmy became. The manager’s job sounded like the most important task on the football team. The coach embellished his description with words far outside the range of Jimmy’s vocabulary. Without proper hydration the players ran the risk of heatstroke, even death, he said. The wrong helmet on a player’s head could result in a concussion and permanent brain damage. An incorrect jersey number could confuse the quarterback and result in a pass to a tight end instead of a wide receiver.

  “Can you handle those responsibilities?” the coach asked.

  Jimmy swallowed hard. Daddy spoke. “Once Jimmy learns something, it’s in him forever. He’s a hard worker and very conscientious.”

  “Is that true?” Coach Nixon asked Jimmy.

  Jimmy wasn’t sure about the last word, but he knew Daddy wouldn’t lie.

  “Yes, sir.”

  The coach reached across the desk and shook Jimmy’s hand.

  “Welcome to the Cattaloochie County High School football program. We start practice in three weeks.”

  Daddy and Coach Nixon talked several more minutes about the team’s prospects for the coming season. Jimmy didn’t try to follow the conversation. He spent the time looking at everything in the office. The walls were lined with team photos from past years. He wondered which one was Daddy’s team.

  Jimmy had never seen the coach’s whistle up close. It hung from a nail behind the desk. On a shelf beside the grease board was a helmet cracked open down the middle. Jimmy figured it was probably the result of a manager’s mistake.

  “Thanks, Coach,” Daddy said, standing up. “We’ll have Jimmy here an hour before practice. Would it help if I stayed the first morning to help get him acclimated?”

  “No, I’ll put him with Chris Meadows, an experienced manager who will teach him the ropes.”

  “The boy with the leg problem?” Daddy asked.

  “Yes. I think he’s a good choice to work with Jimmy. He’s overcome a lot of adversity. He has a temper that flares up occasionally, but only when someone puts him down. I like his spunk.”

  JIMMY WAS QUIET IN THE CAR ON THE RIDE HOME AND STARED out the window. They entered the city limits of Piney Grove.

  “Are you okay?” Daddy asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Are you scared that you’ll have trouble doing the manager job?”

  After a few moments, Jimmy said, “Yes, sir, but it’s not like swimming.”

  “Why not?” Daddy asked.

  Jimmy took off his cap and looked at the captain on the front.

  “It’s like climbing the pole. If I work hard, I can learn how to do it.”

  They rode in silence the rest of the way to the house.

  “Do you believe I will be a good manager?” Jimmy asked as the car rolled to a stop.

  Daddy reached out and patted him on the shoulder.

  “No doubt about it. You’ll be one of the best managers Coach Nixon has ever seen.”

  JIMMY CLIMBED TO THE TOP OF THE POLE TWO MORE TIMES before football practice started. Both times, Daddy was present, holding on to the safety rope.

  Early on a Monday morning, Jimmy sleepily rolled over in bed.

  “Wake up!” Daddy called out.

  “Where’s Mama?” he asked.

  “Downstairs fixing breakfast. Today is the first day of football practice. You have to be there an hour early.”

  Before Daddy finished speaking, Jimmy was sitting up in bed rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

  “I’ll take a shower and come downstairs,” he said.

  “No. You’ll need a shower after practice, not before. I’m sure working as a manager is hot, sweaty work. The temperature is going to hit ninety-six by noon.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Do you know the clothes you want to wear?”

  Ji
mmy pointed to a chair near his closet. He and Mama had picked out a shirt and socks the previous night. He had a pair of old running shoes to wear.

  “Okay, that’s fine,” Daddy replied. “And remember, no University of Georgia hats. What college did Coach Nixon attend?”

  “Auburn.”

  “What is their team mascot?”

  Daddy had taught Jimmy the mascot of every Southeastern Conference team.

  Jimmy stood up and stretched. “They can’t decide. Sometimes it’s an eagle; sometimes it’s a tiger.”

  Daddy smiled. “I would love to hear you say that to Coach Nixon, but don’t do it.”

  “Why not?”

  “He’s a serious man. From now on, Cattaloochie County High School is the most important team in your life.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  JIMMY DRESSED AND RAN IN TO THE HALL. HE ADJUSTED THE Cattaloochie cap in the mirror at the head of the stairs.

  “I’m not very hungry,” he said to Mama when he entered the kitchen.

  “That’s because you’re excited. You need to eat a good breakfast so you won’t run out of energy before I pick you up.”

  Mama put a plate of scrambled eggs, bacon, and two biscuits in front of him. The smell of the food revived Jimmy’s appetite. He cut open a biscuit and watched a pat of butter disappear into the hot white bread.

  “I’m going to drop you off on my way to work,” Daddy said. “Mama will pick you up and take you back for the afternoon practice. Then I’ll bring you home after work.”

  Chewing his food, Jimmy nodded.

  “It’s going to be hot, so make sure you drink a lot of water,” Mama said.

  “That’s part of my job,” Jimmy said. “I’ll give the players water.”

  “And don’t forget to drink some yourself,” Daddy added. “Grab a cup even if you don’t feel thirsty.”

  “I like hot weather,” Jimmy said.

  “Not me,” Mama said. “If this old house hadn’t been modernized, I couldn’t live here.”

  Jimmy finished scooping up his eggs while his parents talked. Daddy was going to have lunch with the Lions Club. Jimmy couldn’t remember a Southeastern Conference football team with a lion as a mascot.

  “I’m going to work in the flower beds while it’s still cool outside,” Mama said.