that stuff,” dad replied. “It has sentimental value.”
“It’s junk and doesn’t have any kind of value,” mom replied.
We went through all the closets and drawers in our house and found all kinds of junk that we did not need. We gathered some old clothes, some slightly chipped plates, and a couple of paintings that my mom hated and packed them up in bags and boxes. We took everything down to the church early Saturday. By the time we got to the front steps of the church, it was apparent that this was going to be a much bigger success than the bake sale. There was a large crowd of people, all lugging boxes and bags into the church.
Inside long wooden tables were set up, full of all kinds of things that you could buy. Business seemed to be very good, as I watched people making purchase after purchase. They filled the bags and boxes that they had used to bring their own things in with, and stuffed them with all kinds of new junk that they were buying. It struck me kinda funny, how people seemed to be so happy to get rid of their own junk but were more than willing to pay good money for other people’s scraps.
“We were able to raise over two hundred dollars at the rummage sale,” Reverend Casey announced in church the next day. “I know that this sounds like a lot of money but we are still way short of our goal for building the baseball field for the kids. We are going to have to put our heads together and think of another idea to raise the money.”
It seemed to me that people were losing interest in the whole baseball field project. It had been more than a month and they had only raised a small fraction of the total amount of money that they needed. As we stood outside after the Sunday service, I could hear people complaining.
“That money could go to much more needed projects that the church should be involved with,” said Mrs. Thomas. “There are plenty of people who attend this church and don’t have enough money to buy proper food.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” said Mrs. Snitzer. “It seems like we are wasting a whole lotta time on this nonsense.”
There seemed to be universal agreement among the parishioners who were milling around, that the idea of building the field should be abandoned. It seemed like my dream of playing baseball at Boger Field was slowly being squeezed to death.
Just then, Reverend Casey walked out onto the church steps and began greeting the parishioners.
“Reverend Casey, don’t you think there might be better uses for the money we raise than building a baseball field?” Mrs. Thomas asked.
“After all the needs of our parish are many.”
Reverend Casey smiled and at Mrs. Thomas and began to speak in a calming voice.
“Mrs. Thomas,” Reverend Casey started, “building this field will not only keep the boys out of trouble, but it will teach them valuable lessons about teamwork and hard work. This is going to be a great investment in our children’s future and is indeed a very wise use of our funds. We have no greater responsibility than that to our children; we should certainly be willing to sacrifice for them.”
Remarkably, everyone standing around shook their heads in unison, seemingly agreeing with everything Reverend Casey had just said. The level of respect that Reverend Casey received was something special to see. I cannot remember a time that anyone raised a dissenting voice when he spoke, at least not while he was present. If someone disagreed with him, they may have said so in private, but even then very quietly. I loved Reverend Casey, he seemed to care about me and my friends in a way that no one except our parents did. Everyone left the church that day once again feeling good about building Boger Field, and I left with my dreams still intact.
16
I went over Johnny’s house that Sunday night and asked him to take a walk over to our clubhouse.
“No, I’m pretty tired and don’t feel like going,” he said.
“Come on, don’t be a baby,” I said, “We don’t have to stay late.”
“I am not in the mood, we can go another night,” he insisted.
Finally, after a few more minutes of convincing, Johnny caved in and I persuaded him to go along.
“Mom, we’re going out,” Johnny yelled upstairs.
“Alright, but be careful and don’t be home late it’s a school night,”
She yelled back, poking her head out from the top of the staircase.
As we left I noticed Johnny’s dad sitting on the living room couch, starring at the floor in front of him. Johnny walked out right past him without saying a word.
It was already getting dark and since it was a school night, I knew we only had an hour or so to play at the clubhouse. It was almost eight o’clock and my mom made me promise that I would be home by nine. As we turned the corner onto Tioga Street, I saw a group of boys standing on the corner. I quickly realized that it was Billy Brannigan and his hoodlum friends.
As we turned the corner, we headed right for where Billy’s group was congregating. I tried to grab Johnny’s arm to get his attention. I wanted him to change direction and cross back over Tioga so that we would be on the opposite side of the street from where Billy was. I grabbed his arm just above his elbow and tried to turn him the other way. Johnny pulled his arm out of my grasp with a sharp violent jerk. He kept walking straight towards Billy and his friends.
“Come on, let’s walk on the other side,” I pleaded to Johnny.
“We can walk on any side of the street we want,” Johnny replied. “Don’t let that stupid Billy Brannigan scare you. This is a public street and we have a right to walk on it just like him.”
“All right, please just don’t say anything to him.”
Billy was leaning over and I could see he was throwing a pair of dice against the steps of an old storefront. There was some paper money and a few coins lying on the ground in front of him. The boys seemed very intent on what they were doing, so I was certain we would get by unnoticed. I averted my eyes to the other side of the street and watched an automobile as it sped by. I wanted to make sure to avoid any eye contact with Billy and get past him as quickly as possible. I did not say a word and passed him as quietly.
We had made it; we were five steps beyond Billy and his group of hooligans. Just then, I noticed Johnny turning his neck around to see what Billy was doing. Billy noticed Johnny starring at him at that very same instant.
“What are you looking at? You little punk,” Billy hollered out.
This was not going to be good, but all we had to do was keep on walking and I was sure we would be fine.
“Just keep walking,” I whispered to Johnny. “He won’t do anything if we just keep walking fast.”
Any normal person would have walked faster right along with me, but instead Johnny came to a quick halt. I could not believe that he was going to stop and confront Billy. Johnny and I had many conversations about how crazy Billy was. Johnny knew that Billy would kill you as quick as he would look at you.
“I can look at whatever I want to look at and I ain’t no punk,” Johnny yelled back.
My heart sank; as I heard the words leave Johnny’s lips. All we had to do was to keep walking, but Johnny had to go and open his big mouth. I was torn between the desire to run and my loyalty to Johnny. I knew I had to stop and try to help him; he would always stop for me. My legs started to buckle as they become very rubbery. I tried to grab his arm one more time to pull him along, but he once again yanked it out of my grasp.
By this time, all three of the boys were looking at Johnny and they began moving towards us. For the first time ever I saw a hint of a smile forming on Billy’s face. I guess that killing little kids must have been the one thing that made him happy, and he was about to be made very happy by killing us.
Johnny straightened his body and arched his back; he was not walking away. Billy moved to the front of his group, his two friends on either side of him stood about two steps behind. Billy and Johnny were about three feet apart and glared right into each other’s eyes. The moment seemed to last forever, no words were spoken. I was completely frozen, as my legs felt as though th
ey weighed much more than I was able to move.
Billy turned away from Johnny and walked back to the storefront. It was the perfect opportunity for us to get the hell out of there, but Johnny wasn’t budging. Billy reached down and picked up a bottle that probably had alcohol in it. He smashed the bottle against the steps of the store and sprayed shattered glass everywhere. The liquid that had been in the bottle spilled in a small round puddle that formed in front of Billy. He held the neck of the bottle with jagged shards of glass sticking out. Turning back towards Johnny, he held what remained of the bottle up face high.
Billy walked very slowly back to where Johnny stood, whirling the bottle in front of him. This was definitely the time to run. I knew if we ran now that we would be able to get away. Johnny and I were certainly both faster than Billy was. Johnny began to turn and I was sure he was in tune with my thinking. Instead of turning all the way around and leaving, he did a half turn and noticed a pile of wood sitting in front of the butcher shop. They had been repairing the window display in front of the store and had left some scrap wood lying on the sidewalk. Johnny grabbed a two-foot piece of the two by four wood scrap and held it up like a sword.
They were now about ten feet apart, Billy with the broken glass bottle and Johnny with his wood beam sword. Out of the blue, Johnny began screaming at Billy at the top of his lungs.
“Come on, I’ll
Me, Johnny, and The Babe Page 15
