Buddy was the baby of the family and the one around whom Mable and Charlie’s world revolved. Their relationship had gone south years ago and just about the only common ground was their love for Charles Fletcher, Jr. His birth came 16 years into their marriage, something that neither one of them thought possible so late in life. Mable and Charlie were both 38 years of age when Buddy was born.
The younger Charles instantly became the life of every party, the subject of most conversations, and his parents’ primary source of joy. Now that he was living away from home, they just co-existed, barely tolerated one another, and just waited for his letters while counting the days until his return. The only exception was when Helen brought their grandson, Dickie, for a visit. On those occasions, it was like somebody recharged their batteries. And then, after his departure, they resumed their mundane ritual.
Once upon a time, they were deeply in love, enjoyed one another’s company, played and laughed, shared and cared but now they did little more than just live together. He went his way and she went hers. However, divorce and separation were never options, never entered their minds. They were raised to believe that divorce and separation were shameful and even sinful. When they said “for better or for worse,” they meant every word.
Since Charlie had little to say to Mable, Buddy’s absence was particularly hard on her. Gone was the one she talked to every morning at breakfast and her confidant for her innermost thoughts. Most of all, she missed his kindness, words of encouragement, and cheerful disposition.
On the rare occasions when Charlie did talk to Mable, it was in the form of a complaint or criticism. However, Mable seldom responded with a harsh word and continued, as always, to tend to his every need and grant his every request. She waited on him hand and foot and her only rewards were a roof over her head and a small allowance for buying groceries.
What changed? What doused the flame in their marriage? Mable had a simple answer, “Life happened.” It wasn’t just one event that caused the breakdown but a series of misfortunes. They started on a high note. Charlie had risen to the position of foreman at Strathmore, one of the Shenandoah Valley’s most prestigious farms near Mt. Jackson.
When they were first married in the summer of 1919, Charlie received a good income and their home was provided as part of the employment package. Then came a setback in February of 1922 with the birth of Ruby, who died two and a half months later. In January of the following year, Mable again gave birth with the same result. Baby Mary lived one day.
In 1933, after several years of failed crops and the economic collapse caused by the Great Depression, Strathmore Farm shut down and Charlie was left without a job. In that terrible ordeal, the Polk’s also lost their home, Charlie was forced to labor at odd jobs and even Mable picked up whatever work she could find. The stress of not being able to adequately provide for his family led to yet another problem. Charlie turned to alcohol and, once word got around, area farmers were no longer willing to give him work. Then, in 1940, Charlie heard that the Viscose Corporation was hiring in Front Royal. He got the job, abandoned the farming that he loved, and moved his family to Strasburg.
Like Mable said, “Life happened.” The move to Strasburg helped, but the damage was already done.
Now they faced the first holiday without their son and they were at a loss as to what to do, if anything. Normally, on the 4th of July, there were burgers on the grill, fireworks, and visits from Buddy’s friends. As for Helen, she had her own plans, which meant Dickie was out of the picture. In fact, the only sign that it might be a holiday was the accumulation of beer bottles in Charlie Polk, Sr.’s trashcan. He started early, 11:00 a.m., and by 3:00, he was feeling pretty good.
Charlie was a piddler. Already that morning he had painted the front porch swing, replaced a window screen and mowed the grass. The more he worked, the more liquid refreshment he consumed but Mable paid no attention until he announced another more ambitious project. “I’m gonna cut down that old oak tree behind the garage.”
When he headed out the back door, she followed. “Might want to rethink this,” she said trying to keep up. To hear her tell it, Charlie was the most bullheaded man on earth and, most often, she kept her mouth shut and just let him do his thing. But not today, nothing so dangerous while under the influence.
“Come on in and relax before you go chopping off something you’ll be sorry for.” All he did in response was to hum his little tune of displeasure, so Mable changed her method of persuasion. “Let’s get out the ice cream freezer and make some chocolate ice cream. You’ve been drinking and it’s not safe for you to be chopping wood in your condition.”
Finally, she got a rise out of him. “For God’s sake, Mable, mind your own business.”
She continued to press, but no amount of logic or favorite food bribery worked.
“Stand back, before you get hurt,” said Charlie and then he took another swipe at the tree.
Again she begged him to stop. “Please, please, put that thing down and come inside.”
Charlie laughed at her. “Mable, I ain’t drunk. Now, get out of here or I might accidentally hit you with this thing.” Playfully, he waved the axe in front of her face and smiled. “Now, git. I’ve been choppin’ wood since I was old enough to walk.”
When Mable failed to talk any sense into him, she decided to seek help from somebody whose counsel he was more likely to accept, like that of his son or his daughter. Buddy was too far away to be of any help, so Helen was her only choice.
Mable’s call couldn’t have come at a worse time. Woody was attempting to hang wallpaper under Helen’s strict supervision. Due to her close monitoring of his work, Woody frequently referred to her as his “Sidewalk Superintendent.” On this day, his boss was more dissatisfied than usual with his performance and was letting him know about it in no uncertain terms, when the phone rang. And instead of answering the telephone with the usual greeting of “hello,” Helen responded with a snarky, “What do you want?””
“Well, hello to you too,” said Mable.
“Call me later. We’re right in the middle of something. Woody’s ruining our dining room wall.”
“I need help.”
“What’s the matter?”
“You’re daddy’s been drinkin’ and he’s got an ax.”
Helen didn’t wait for further explanation. “What? I’ll have to stay here with Dickie. Woody will be right over.” And when she hung up the phone, she sounded the warning. “Woody, Daddy’s been drinkin’ and he’s chasing Momma with an ax. Get over there before he kills her.”
“Should we call the cops?”
“Just get on over there.”
Woody would never have been first on anybody’s list for intervening in a domestic violence situation. He had struggled with health issues most of his life and, as a result, was frail, skinny as a rail, and definitely not a fighter. However, Woody would do anything for anybody, even if it meant risking his life for his loved ones. He ran to his car and rushed toward the alleged crime scene, all the while contemplating the awful predicament he might encounter. Had Charlie lost his mind? What would cause him to do such a thing? How could he protect himself from a madman with an ax?
Five minutes later, Woody pulled into the Polk driveway and ran inside the house. “Are you alright? Where is he? Has he calmed down?” Before Mable could respond, Woody grabbed a chair from beneath the kitchen table.
“What’s that for?” asked Mable, now concerned about Woody’s weird behavior.
“This is how they protect themselves from ferocious lions in the circus.”
Mable was amused at her son in law’s feeble attempt at bravery. “Don’t have no lions that I know about around here.”
“Just protectin’ myself in case Charlie takes a swing at me.”
“Why would he do that?”
“If he’s been chasin’ you with an ax he’s liable to come at me.”
“Where did you hear such a thing?”
“Helen, said he was drunk and comin’ at you with an ax.”
“I told her no such thing. All I wanted is for her, or you, to talk some sense into him. He’s out there in the hot sun trying to chop down that old tree behind the garage, which he has no business doing when he’s been drinkin’. At his age, he might have a heart attack or stroke or something. Helen knows her daddy wouldn’t harm a fly.”
Woody had that talk with Charlie and was pleased to see that his father in law was in good spirits. In fact, Charlie offered up Mable’s homemade ice cream proposal. “What do you like? Chocolate? Vanilla? Been wantin’ to try out a grape-nuts ice cream recipe. How about it?”
It didn’t take long for Woody to make up his mind. Ice cream on a hot day sounded like a better option than listening to Helen complain about the way he hung wallpaper. “I’m in. Let’s make us some ice cream.”
Thirty minutes later the phone rang. Helen wanted to know, “What’s going on over there? You sound alright. Did daddy hurt Woody?”
“Havin’ an ice cream party. Want some?” replied Mable.
Somehow Helen remained persuaded that her daddy chased her mother with an ax. Even though Mable tried to set the record straight and Helen acknowledged that it never happened, she still wouldn’t stop telling the errant version. Woody thought Helen exaggerated the story to get attention. Besides, she had already spread the news to her gossiping compatriots before she got all the facts. Retracting her story would make her look bad.
By 8:00 o’clock, Mable and Charlie were in their favorite spots in front of the TV with their feet propped up. And then the phone rang.
“Who could that be at this hour?” asked Mable. Charlie never answered the phone. Didn’t like the fool thing. As always, Mable feared the worst but she was about to get some good news.
“Hi, Mom.”
She motioned to Charlie to let him know that Buddy was on the phone. It was like somebody turned on a bright light in the room. “So good to hear your voice.”
The gray cloud that seemed to hang over the white house on Capon Street that day had gone away. Talk was small, nothing earth shattering was communicated, but it was just the lift they needed.
Spoiled Plans – July 1953
Buddy and Sally were secretive about their relationship. Sally reasoned that it was less complicated that way, especially since she ended up waiting on Otto’s All-Stars every day. Even Mrs. Duffy protected their privacy by refusing Eddie’s request to do his laundry.
The couple spent every weekend together just taking it easy at Sally’s home. Her parents were quite fond of the boy from Strasburg who was able to bond with Icky, Sally’s rambunctious little brother. The two of them finished building a tree house in the Duffy’s backyard, much to the delight of Sally’s father, who started the project a year previous but just never got around to completing it.
On the work front, Buddy’s star was rising and it was apparent that he was Otto’s favorite All-Star. He was always on time, meticulous with his reports, and went the extra mile in his assignments. That’s not to say that everything was going his way because Eddie saw Buddy’s hard work as nothing more than “sucking up” to his boss. And nobody wanted that full-time opportunity with the state more than Eddie.
Even Will wondered where Buddy went every weekend. When asked, Buddy would just say that he ran errands on Saturday that involved banking, laundry, and a little shopping. Then on Sundays, he went to church. That wasn’t a lie, it just wasn’t the whole truth, but it was enough to satisfy Will’s curiosity.
As the weeks progressed, it became apparent that Mr. Bly’s bark was worse than his bite. He made it clear from day one that the slightest infraction of their work duty would result in dismissal. Now, well into their second month, Eddie had broken many of Otto’s rules, but he was still on the team. He was often late for work and some days, he was just too sick to get out of bed. Eddie always had an excuse like: he was catching a cold, bitten by a spider, or he feared he was suffering from heat stroke. These maladies struck at least once per week and Will and Buddy couldn’t believe that Otto was buying it.
On the morning of July 20th, Eddie was again too sick to work. “Think I might have a fever,” he told Otto. When Mr. Bly offered to take him to a doctor, Eddie suggested they wait a day in hopes that rest was all he needed for recovery.
Soon after his co-workers headed out for their assignments, Eddie went to work on a plan to improve his chances of getting the full-time position with the Virginia Highway Department. His plot was to discredit his boss by showing that Otto was calling in reports that Buddy failed to submit. As Mr. Bly’s roommate, Eddie had easy access to the daily traffic volume reports. It only took him a few minutes to remove a half dozen of Buddy’s report forms which he destroyed and then discarded in a trash can. Every day a maid cleaned the rooms and carried the trash to a large incinerator barrel behind the old hotel. Eddie sat in a rocker on the back porch until he was sure that the burning had taken place.
Then Eddie walked into town, ate lunch at the West Point Diner, and then stopped at a phone booth and placed an anonymous phone call to Project Manager, Walter Abernathy, at the Highway Department headquarters. When Walter asked for Eddie to identify himself, he responded that he was a concerned citizen staying at the West Point Hotel where he overheard things that just should not be happening. “Tax dollars are getting wasted by state employees. Thought you would want to know.”
Walter was suspicious of the caller and requested more concrete evidence of wrongdoing. “Overheard a fellow using the phone in the hotel lobby. I believe he called himself, Mr. Fry, or something close to that.”
“Maybe, Mr. Bly?” suggested Mr. Abernathy, who could hear the sound of cars passing in the background. Must be an outdoor payphone, he thought.
“That sounds right. Yeah. Bly. Definitely, Mr. Bly.”
“What made you think this Mr. Bly was doing something wrong?”
Eddie’s voice began to quiver from sudden nervousness as he spoke. “He was telling this one young fella not to worry about taking some days off. Said he would just fake reports like normal. Nobody would ever know.”
“Do you know the name of the person he was talking to?”
“Called him Charles. I remembered it since that’s my daddy’s name,” said Eddie as another man stood outside the phone booth waiting his turn. “That’s not a way to conduct state business.”
“No, sir. I agree, said Mr. Abernathy wondering if the whistleblower was someone he knew. “But I still don’t understand what motivated you to get involved.”
“Well, there’s more. Sounded like there’s another fellow that they were trying to make look bad. Something about guaranteeing that he wouldn’t get a promotion.”
“Did you get his name?”
“Uh, Eddie, I believe. Yeah, that’s it. Eddie. The older guy said he was sick and tired of that Eddie working so hard and making them look bad.”
“Hold on a minute. I’m writing this down. So, Eddie is the hard worker, Charles is the one not doing his job, and then Otto appears to be the one in charge. Correct?”
The man waiting his turn with the payphone knocked on the glass door. “Hurry up in there.”
Eddie acknowledged the impatient man and motioned that he was about to wrap up the call. What he didn’t realize was that he had just made an error in judgment. Previously, he had only given the boss’s name as Mr. Bly, not Otto.
Walter Abernathy was pretty sure he knew the identity of his caller. He had already heard a version of this story from Otto Bly, except in the field manager’s narrative, Eddie was the ne’er-do-well and Charles was the hard worker. Otto had requested permission to fire Eddie, but Walter believed that Eddie should be allowed to work through the month. “Anything else you need to tell me?”
“Nothing else to tell. Their conversation ended real fast when another fella joined them.”
“Did you get his name?”
“No. They shut up in a hurry. Short yo
ung fella with glasses,” said Eddie hurriedly. As best as Walter Abernathy could remember, Will Hottle matched that description.
“And you’re sure you don’t want to give me your name.”
“No, sir. Just as soon not,” said Eddie as there were now two people waiting to use the phone.
“I might need to get back in touch with you if I have more questions.”
“I’ll call you if I see anything else suspicious. So, are you going to look into it? I think they should be fired, don’t you?”
“No question,” said Mr. Abernathy trying to avoid letter his caller know that he was on to him. “The ax is going to fall real soon. Sure you don’t want to tell me who you are? How did you know to call me?”
Eddie was alarmed by Mr. Abernathy’s question and abruptly ended the conversation.
“Hello. Hello. Are you there?”
Eddie was already out of the phone booth and on his way back to the hotel. He expected the crew back around 6:00 or 6:30 and he wanted to be in his sickbed when they arrived. The crap is about to hit the fan, he thought as he walked up the stairs to his room.
For the remainder of the week, Eddie was on his best behavior and on the lookout for signs of an investigation or maybe even a visit from Walter Abernathy. Thus far there were no indications that his phone call had accomplished anything.
Saturday, July 25th, was Sally’s 19th birthday. That afternoon, Buddy celebrated the special occasion at her parent’s home and then he took her to the West Point Movie House to see the new Vincent Price movie, House of Wax. Sally’s grandmother, Lulabelle, graciously loaned her car to them for the evening.
On the way back from the theater, Buddy stopped at the Esso service station on 14th Street, which was adjacent to Uncle Buck’s Bar. Bellied up to the bar and armed with his fake ID, Eddie was working on his third beer when he spotted Buddy, dressed in a suit, and purchasing Cokes from a machine in front of the station. Eddie didn’t give the incident much thought until he saw his co-worker open a car door, on the driver’s side, and get in. That’s when he ran to the bar window to get a better look. As the automobile pulled away, he could see that there was a girl in the car with Buddy. Well, if that don’t beat all, he thought. So that’s what he’s been doing on the weekends. Got him a girl and a car we didn’t know about.”
Farewell PFC Polk: The End of a Nightmare (In the Valley of Hope Book 2) Page 7
