He reaches into a drawer and pulls a sheet of paper from a file marked SECRET. The heading across the top of the paper reads: “From the Office of the Governor. To all Mayors of this State. Subject: How to Call Out the National Guard in Time of Civil Unrest.”
Mayor Bienfang studies the paper, then makes a courageous decision. He replaces the sheet in the SECRET file. He leans down and puts his head on his desk.
Chapter 15
The Junk Parade
Dusk was falling on an uneasy Riverton. Children were called in for supper. Streetlights blinked into life.
The first ripple of the evening’s activities came from the outer edges of town. Superweasel had set 7:30 as the moment; kids on the far edges of town had to start first in order to reach the city square at that time.
As if on signal, block by block, kids gathered for a moment under the streetlights, then scattered to their backyards and alleys. When they reappeared, each was lurching along under a heavy load of trash. Some carried it in plastic bags, others hauled it in wagons, still others simply dragged it along.
One girl borrowed her little brother’s baby buggy, loaded it with rusty tin cans and old chunks of concrete, and pushed it out into the street to lead the procession toward City Hall.
Behind her came a boy with a huge picnic basket under each arm, one loaded with garbage, the other with broken bottles.
One of the strongest boys in Madison School was balancing a huge cardboard box on top of his head. The box held a broken barber pole, a dozen paint cans, two splintered folding chairs, and a batch of newspapers still soggy from the previous night’s rain. It was the wet newspapers that weakened the box. At the corner of Oak and 1st Street, the bottom suddenly gave way, and the boy found his head thrust up inside. Thick red paint oozed down his forehead.
The nine kids who had, for years, called themselves the Dirty Ears Gang had “borrowed” a trailer from one of their garages and loaded it with junk from every vacant lot east of Main Street. Now four boys pulled on each side of the trailer tongue like horses in harness, while the ninth member of the Dirty Ears Gang pushed from behind. Going down the Maple Street hill the gang lost control of the trailer, and it started rolling along under its own power, gradually gathering speed. Suddenly it hit a bump, veered to the right, blundered up a driveway, across a widow’s lawn, and knocked down half a dozen old fence posts as though they were bowling pins. The widow, who had been trying to hire someone to remove the posts for more than a month, stood on her porch and cheered. The Dirty Ears finally recovered the trailer, tossed the fence posts into it with the rest of the trash, and eased their way to the bottom of the hill.
Two of the larger boys picked up a rusty old swing set and carted it down the alley toward Willow Avenue. In the semidarkness they failed to see a low hanging telephone wire, and the swing-set snapped it cleanly in two. At that very moment a woman’s hysterical voice was telling the Police Department by phone that she had seen a gang of hoodlums roaming the alley behind her home. She was cut off in mid-sentence, and locked herself in her bathroom. Her message had been noted, however. The police duty officer dispatched Sergeant Fernald and Officer Twilley to investigate what was going on along Second Street near Willow.
Plenty was going on. Willow Avenue is fairly close to the downtown area of Riverton, so by the time the baby buggy leading the parade reached Willow, at least three hundred kids were following. And by now they weren’t all grade school kids. The parade seemed to attract all ages from kindergartners to high school kids. They moved an incredible amount of junk gleaned from the entire east end of town.
Evil Eye Davis, Willy Davis’s little brother, was sprawled atop his own wagon holding down a load of unwrapped garbage while Willy pulled it toward City Hall. Theresa Undermine carried her baby sister, sucking on a bottle, under one arm and a shopping basket full of everything from gum wrappers to a dead cat under the other.
Sergeant Fernald wheeled the police car around the corner and onto Willow Avenue. Instantly he slammed on his brakes. Advancing toward him through the semidarkness was a horde of kids, totally blocking the street and overflowing onto the sidewalks. In the lead was a red-haired girl pushing a baby buggy piled high with junk. Just behind her marched a preschool boy in baggy pants beating a drum made from a rusty bucket. All the other kids were trying to keep in step despite the drummer’s short steps.
It was like an army of huge ants. Nothing could stop the march, and the kids engulfed the squad car. They flowed, irresistibly, right on around it. Sergeant Fernald rolled down the window and started shouting.
That was where he made his mistake. Coming directly at the squad car at that moment were half a dozen kids, each gripping the edge of a big sheet of plastic. On top of the plastic, in a huge ugly wad, was all of the overflow garbage from the Hoosier Hot Dog Haven out on East Main Street, which had a reputation for leaving garbage strewn about. As Sergeant Fernald thrust his head out the window and shouted, he almost rubbed noses with a skinny little girl. Startled by his sudden appearance and loud shout, she shied away, bumping into the boy next to her. Instantly scores of kids went down like rows of dominoes. The garbage on top of the plastic sheet slooped toward the squad car, and then hurtled like an avalanche down onto the windshield. Ketchup streamed across the glass. Sergeant Fernald surrendered; he just sat there and watched the parade flow past his window.
Three kids rolled old tires from curb to curb. One girl wore a bashed-in motorcycle helmet and carried a huge bouquet of mangled artificial flowers. Six bigger boys carried the broken football goalposts that had been rotting on the ground since the high school team had moved to a new practice field.
And (unbelievable!) here came at least thirty kids carrying on their shoulders the ancient Volkswagen that had been an eyesore in the ditch along Taylor Road for five years or more. Inside the car, sitting proudly in the driver’s seat, was a seven-year-old boy peering intently through thick glasses at the shattered windshield, whipping the steering wheel this way and that, and shouting instructions.
Four boys carried an old bathtub full of the two-year-old Klemm triplets, who were having the time of their lives. Half a dozen girls marched proudly along carrying an old chicken coop that shed a gentle stream of feathers like a soft snowfall, blanketing the marchers just behind.
Five minutes later, when the last of the parade had ebbed past, Sergeant Fernald discovered that the kids who had been carrying the sheet of plastic had stayed behind to clean up the mess. Eagerly they spread the plastic sheet on the pavement, and scraped the squad car as clean as they could, piling the trash back on the sheet.
Sergeant Fernald approached the red-headed girl, who had pushed her baby buggy to one side and stayed behind to help clean up the squad car. “Young lady, tell me about this. What are you kids doing?”
“Cleaning up the environment.” She said it proudly. “Picking up every bit of junk and trash we can find anywhere. We’re trying to show you grown-ups what a mess you’ve made of our town for so many years.”
There was a pause. Then she admitted thoughtfully, “Sometimes kids make messes, too. Anyway, we’re cleaning up the whole city. Look around tomorrow and you won’t see any litter anywhere.”
“Where are you taking all the trash?”
“Down to City Hall. We’re going to sort it there, and dump it in big piles. We figure that if we gather it all together in one place, then the adults will have to dispose of it.”
Sergeant Fernald’s eyes twinkled. “I think you’re right. Whose idea was this?”
“Superweasel’s.” It popped out before she thought, and she clapped her hand over her mouth. “Ooooooooohh! I shouldn’t have said that! Please don’t tell anybody.”
As the kids picked up the plastic sheet and marched away, Sergeant Fernald reached for his microphone.
“Squad One calling headquarters. Request that the chief be put on the line.”
“I hear you, Sergeant. What’s going on?”
Alv
in Fernald’s father took a deep breath. “Well, I think we can be proud of the kids in this town, sir. They’re a lot more aware of their environment than most of the adults.” He described what was happening. “They should be coming into your sight just about now. I suggest we play it loose, sir. Let the kids do their work and have their fun. Keep members of the police force out of sight. Oh, and I suggest you call the mayor and tell him what’s happening, sir. It will ease his mind.”
“I’ll do that. Whose idea was this whole operation?”
Sergeant Fernald was silent for a moment. Then, “The kids say it was Superweasel’s idea.”
Obviously the chief was thinking that over. “Well, we have a score to settle with that guy, whoever he is. He could clean up the streets of Heaven, and we’d still track him down for the vandalism he’s done. Instinct tells me we’ll nail him tonight. Report back here, Sergeant. Over and out.”
“Over and out.”
Suddenly, for no apparent reason, Sergeant Fernald was a troubled man. He had, within his own mind, admired Superweasel for his antipollution efforts. He had admired him, that is, until the vandalism began. It was almost as though Superweasel were two different persons...
Sergeant Fernald climbed into the squad car and headed for City Hall.
Chapter 16
At the City Hall
An owl, soaring high through the night air over Riverton, would have been able to see four long columns of kids snaking through town, marching on City Hall from the four major points of the compass.
Alvin, Shoie and the Pest were waiting on the curbstone when the West Main Street column came into view. Some of the kids from Roosevelt School shouted at them, and they joined the head of the parade, just behind Mary Gibbons and The New Kid. Mary and The New Kid were carrying a big banner that said:
HELP SAVE OUR ENVIRONMENT!
DON’T LITTER.
“Here we go,” Alvin said in a low voice. In one hand he carried a paper sack that looked like it was full of trash.
“Here we go,” echoed the Pest. “Oh, Alvin, it’s so exciting!” She was carrying an immense wad of crumpled wastepaper which she somehow had tied into a gigantic ball with a long piece of string. The ball towered high above her head so she couldn’t see, and she blundered blindly down the street wandering from curb to curb.
Shoie had an old tire over each shoulder. And, wound several times around his wrist was a long electrical cord. The cord obviously was not trash.
“Hey, Shoie! Watcha c-c-c-c-carrying the c-c-c-wire for?” asked Worm Wormley.
“You’ll see!” shouted Shoie. “Take a look around.”
Sure enough, several of the other kids had long extension cords looped around their waists or across their shoulders.
By now, porch lights were flashing on all along Main Street, and adults were streaming out of their houses to watch the procession. As soon as they read the sign at the head of the column, they started clapping and cheering the kids on.
Meanwhile the column was growing steadily in size as it was joined, not only by other kids who were in on the plan, but also by little kids, big kids, dogs, cats, even adults. And the adults who didn’t join the parade began walking beside it down the sidewalk to find out what was going to happen next.
To Alvin it was an exciting sight, and he gloried in the swell of sound. Superweasel had planned the whole thing. Right under the noses of the adults, Superweasel had inspired the kids to clean up the entire town of Riverton.
There was no way that traffic could move down Main Street, so drivers abandoned their cars and joined the parade, swelling its already swollen ranks.
Old Mr. Grunnion came barreling down his driveway in his motorized wheelchair, waving one arm and shouting the kids on. Shoie made a place for him at the head of the column. The girl marching beside Shoie discovered that she had overestimated her strength, and now was staggering under a load of plastic bags filled with tin cans that was simply too big for her. Old Mr. Grunnion grabbed one of the bags, balanced it on his lap, shouted “Charge!” and turned up his wheelchair to full speed ahead.
Gary Hines had been taking care of his little niece Melissa, who was one and a half years old. He wasn’t supposed to leave the house, but he couldn’t resist. He piled her into his old wagon and joined the parade. She was so entranced with all the noise and movement that at the corner of Maple and Main Streets she fell out of the wagon. Gary, his eyes shining with excitement, didn’t miss her for almost four blocks. Fortunately a Madison schoolboy saw her fall, snatched her up, and dropped her into the bushel basket of soggy newspapers he was carrying.
At the corner of Oak Street, Miss Miles, who really had started the whole thing by assigning her students a pollution project, joined the head of the column. She looked across at Alvin. There was a proud smile on her face.
Wouldn’t she be surprised, thought Alvin, if she knew I was Superweasel?
But the thought was swept from his mind as the head of the column came to the end of Main Street and rolled irresistibly across the square toward City Hall. The building, built of white stone, was gleaming in the floodlights that were turned on each night.
As he crossed the street Alvin looked to his left, then his right, and saw two equally big parades of kids — and adults — marching from those directions.
And he knew that still another column was approaching the back of the building.
“Come on!” he shouted.
He, Shoie and the Pest raced on ahead, and were joined on the sidewalk that approached the City Hall steps by the four kids from the other schools, who had organized the parades. Each of these kids was carrying not trash, but supplies. Within seconds they had driven stakes into the ground on each side of the walk, and attached signs to them. The sign pointing to the left said METAL AND GLASS; the sign to the right said PAPER, WOOD, AND CLOTH.
The signs went up just in time. By now the whole city square was packed with people, and the columns came to an abrupt halt. Then the kids came forward, at first one-by-one, then in groups, and dumped the trash that had so recently littered every street, every yard, and every alley of Riverton. Soft materials to the right, which could be sold for reprocessing, and solid materials to the left, which presented more of an environmental problem.
But Superweasel had already thought out one solution. They could sell the cans and bottles if they could reduce them to a manageable form.
“Quick!” Alvin said to Shoie. “Take charge of the extension cords.”
Shoie dashed over to the City Hall steps, where a dozen other kids were already waiting, each with an extension cord in hand. He waved for a couple of the kids to follow him, and slipped inside the door. Within thirty seconds they reappeared, unrolling three electric cords down the steps. When they came to the end of their cords, other boys plugged in and continued. Soon they had three outlets by the big piles of bottles and cans.
As if from nowhere three boys appeared on the lawn. Two were pulling garden carts, the third a homemade wagon. All three carried identical, if strange, loads.
“What are those, Alvin?” shouted Irma Watney, her eyes glowing.
“Trash smashers!” he shouted back.
It had been the knottiest problem of all. The “organizing committee” had chosen Theresa Undermine to solve the problem because she had a reputation as the most persuasive speaker in Roosevelt School.
Theresa had cornered Mr. Bilzer in the office of his appliance store. Fifteen minutes later she had emerged with a victorious smile — and with the loan of three trash compactors. Mr. Bilzer also emerged, but with a slightly dazed expression. Theresa had guaranteed that she would demonstrate the trash compactors to hundreds if not thousands of potential customers.
Now willing hands quickly unloaded the appliances onto the lawn, and plugged them into the extension cords that snaked out of City Hall.
Theresa pulled out a large drawer, loaded in a heavy paper bag, and motioned to Shoie to fill it with old bottles. When it was f
ull, she pushed it back in its cabinet and pressed a button. There was a soft whirrrr and a grinding sound. When she pulled out the drawer again, all the bottles had been smashed into a thin layer in the bottom. Several times she and Shoie did this. Then Shoie (the muscleman) lifted the bag from the drawer. Inside was a heavy block of smashed glass. Soon all three trash compactors were in operation and the pile of blocks, some filled with glass and some filled with flattened cans, grew rapidly.
The city square by now was an incredible sight.
Alvin knew that Riverton had been littered, but he had no idea that a total clean-up would uncover so much junk.
The kids had started a third pile of trash — items too big to put in the other two piles: old mattresses and springs, doors and window frames, tree limbs, the entire roof of a shed, car fenders and radiators, even a badly cracked set of concrete steps. Alvin had no idea how the kids had managed to move the steps, but by now he was convinced that, if they tried hard enough, they could do almost anything. As he watched, the kids heaved the old Volkswagen onto the stack. Inside, the little boy was still peering through his thick glasses at the shattered windshield. Shoie hauled him out over violent protests.
As the kids finished dumping their loads they retreated across the street to join the adults on the sidewalk. When the sidewalk too was jammed, they overflowed onto the street itself.
The trash mashers were operating full blast, stamping out blocks of trash like they were building blocks. Worm Wormley and Shoie formed the blocks into a long line, then placed other blocks on top. Soon they had a wall at least twelve feet long and six feet high.
The Pest slipped through the crowd and crossed the street to Lunt’s Hardware Store. Sure enough, Mr. Lunt was inside, cheering the kids on between puffs of his pipe. When the Pest knocked on his door, he let her in. Two minutes later she was back, tugging at Alvin’s sleeve.
Alvin Fernald, Superweasel Page 8
