“Okay, I’ve worked here about twenty years,” he said. “Does that satisfy you?”
“Well it might,” said the sisters. “Can you remember a baby left in a blanket on your loading dock?”
“And you’re sure you’re not cops?”
“We’re sure; trust us.”
“Well, actually there was a baby boy left out there about sixteen or seventeen years ago. I can’t remember the actual year. He didn’t have a name pinned on him or anything, so we had no clues.”
“What did you do with him?”
“We did what any righteous civic-minded people would do: We turned him over to family welfare.”
Aha! thought Mrs. Mushrush. So Harvey was telling the truth about all of this! I’ll have another talk with my husband. Maybe this news would give him more of an open mind about Harvey.
As the two sisters turned to leave, they thanked Thornwhistle, but he couldn’t resist once more: “Just make sure you’re not cops and I never did nothin’ wrong.”
By this time Wilberta and Valencia couldn’t help laughing.
Wilberta made her report to Mushrush, but he wasn’t buying. “All this proves is he might have told the truth about something. He might have heard the story from somebody else, then took it as his own.”
“Aren’t you curious at all to find out if he really is one of our relatives?”
“No,” said Bailey. He turned in bed so his backside was facing his wife. “I’d be a lot more interested after he was taken out of our house by the authorities, and put somewhere appropriate like the juvenile detention center.”
“Oh! You’re so frustrating about this! Can you just stop with all your theories about the lies? It’s really starting to annoy me.”
“Whatever,” said Mushrush. “Let’s just drop the subject so I can go to sleep.”
5. EARLY EXPULSION
Harvey found a picture in one of the old scrapbooks that got his attention. It was an old picture, probably from the ’30s or ’40s, based on the clothes people were wearing. It must have been a family reunion of some sort, there were so many people; and of all ages. There were the old, the children, and lots of adults who were young or middle-aged.
He asked Mrs. M about the photo. “There’s not much I can tell you about that one, Harvey, it goes back before I was born. I’d have to consult my mother and Valencia, to see if she can shed any light.”
“Your mother, Mrs. M.? Where does she live?”
“Cooperstown, New York.”
“That’s real far away.”
“Yes, but I could call her or communicate by e-mail. Why are you interested so much about this picture?”
Harvey pointed to a little girl on the end of the front row. She might have been four or five. She was very dark-skinned. “Who’s this?” he asked.
“To be honest with you, I’m just not sure. I think Valencia might have said once she was the child of a second cousin by marriage. An older second cousin. I’m not sure if he ever knew us or not.”
Harvey pointed to the girl again. “She looks like a nigger.”
“No, Harvey, I’m sure she’s not an African-American, but I have a vague memory of Valencia talking once about a distant cousin who married a Cherokee woman.”
“You mean like a half-breed?”
“I don’t think we use terms like that any more,” said Wilberta primly, while wiping at the corners of her mouth for cookie crumbs that weren’t there.
“An injun and a white bread. That’s where this little girl came from?”
“I think it would be more polite to say a Native American and a white man. But like I already told you, I’m not so sure. Let’s find out what my mother and Valencia can find out about her, okay?”
Harvey was expelled from East High after one week. He couldn’t understand why. Sure, he’d gotten into a little tomfoolery like beating kids up after school, stealing their lunch money and such, but there wasn’t anything serious about any of it, so he couldn’t understand why they expelled him.
Bobo was soo glad; now he wouldn’t have to look at Harvey anymore at school. Or hear him either.
Bailey Mushrush practically went through the roof after he heard about it. He told his wife, “I tried to tell you this kid was no good. I tried to tell you it wasn’t safe having him in our home. Now do you believe me?”
“It’s a sad turn of events,” she admitted. “Maybe Harvey doesn’t fit in like other kids.”
“He’d fit in just fine at the juvenile lock-up.”
“Prison?”
“Yeah, prison. That’s probably where he belongs. Doesn’t his violent behavior at school bother you? Just think of the violence he could perpetrate right here at home, on our own children.”
“Yes, it bothers me,” she confessed.
“Then that’s final. Tomorrow I’m putting him out of the house and into some social service facility. Maybe they can lock him up or get him into juvenile detention.”
“Let’s not act in haste,” said Wilberta.
“Haste?! He’s been here three weeks, he’s broken all the house rules about smoking, and now he’s been expelled from a perfectly good high school for his violent behavior.”
“Let’s sleep on it overnight,” said his wife.
“You can sleep on it. My mind is made up. And if you had a brain in that head of yours, your mind would be made up too.”
“I’m just thinking we ought to check out other options,” said Mrs. Mushrush. “Let me do some looking around.”
Mushrush rolled over in bed so his back was facing her. “Looking around,” he muttered.
“What’s that?”
“Okay, here’s the way it’s going to be,” he said, still with his back turned. “You’ve got one day. If you can’t do your looking around tomorrow, then I’m booting him out of here. Understand?”
“Go to sleep, Bailey.”
6. DEALEY PLAZA
The next day, Wilberta Mushrush took the day off from the canning factory. She got lucky, right where she thought she would, at the Special Alternative School. Most people simply called it the SAS.
It was the new alternative school, located in the old Texas School Book Depository, which had been renovated into a large school building for students who just couldn’t seem to conform to the regular school environment. The sixth floor museum remained unchanged. The general public would have to get there by way of an outside elevator, which was still under construction.
The principal’s name was Devin D’artagnan but he preferred to be called the “headmaster”. “I think it’s a more appropriate title for the leader of an alternative school,” he told Mrs. Mushrush. “Sort of like the English do it.”
Mrs. Mushrush was a little taken aback. “What are your credentials, sir?”
“I was the school cop for 20 years. I visited classrooms everywhere, taking my anti-drugs, anti-crime message with me. Then the city cut the program, and the police department didn’t know what to do with me. Then this came along.”
“Have you been to college?”
“I went a couple of years to junior college, but then I joined the force. I was ready for action. Instead, I got school visits.”
“I still don’t see how you’re qualified to be this school’s princi—I mean headmaster.”
“Well, I was a police officer, so I had my share of scrapes with the scum over the years. Also, I had all that experience working with kids in schools. It just seemed like the perfect fit.”
Mrs. Mushrush put aside her doubts for the time being. She told him about Harvey, his troubles at East High, his mysterious past. “But I think he’s basically very bright,” she added, “and would do well in an alternative school.”
D’artagnan gave her a one-page form. “Fill out as much of it as you can. I can’t guarantee we’ll accept him today, but you should know by the end of the week. I can give you our pamphlet and reading list to take home. It’ll give you a little more information about how we operate.�
��
Wilberta filled out the form quickly. There weren’t too many questions she could answer that didn’t apply to her own family. Then she told D’artagnan “Goodbye,” and “thank you.”
“We’ll be in touch,” he said.
One the way home, she stopped at Starbucks for a Cafe Latté. At the same time, she took out the SAS literature, skimmed it, then looked at the reading list. It was a curious hodge-podge of books, but then she reminded herself, after all it is an alternative school. The books were:
A Handbook of Taxpayers’ rights
by
Al Capone
The Philosophical abstracts of Robin Hood
by
Geoffrey Chaucer
Bonnie & Clyde: the Facts Behind the Legend
by
Larry McMurtry
When There’s no Choice but Killing
by
Jack Ruby
On the Road with no Regrets
by
Charles Starkweather
My Life as a White House Criminal
by
Richard Nixon
100 Ways to Disable Without Killing
by
G. Gordon Liddy
How Big Really was John Dillinger’s Penis?
by
J. Edgar Hoover
Sucker Punch: an Inside Look at Street Gangs
by
Richard Simmons
Mrs. Mushrush had never seen such a strange group of titles (at least not for school reading). But she figured the Dallas School Board knew what it was doing. She finished her coffee and left.
That night, after they turned the lamp off, she told Bailey the good news: “I think I can get Harvey registered in that new SAS in Dealey Plaza,” she said.
“Why is that good news?” he asked. “That’s just a foolish, expensive educational experiment that won’t last.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Harvey’ll probably get kicked out of there almost as fast as Eastern High. Even alternative schools set limits.”
Then Wilberta played her ace: “Did I mention that the school is residential?”
Mushrush sat straight up in bed and turned the lamp back on. “What did you say?”
Mrs. Mushrush felt a sense of victory, and couldn’t help smiling. “I said, ‘The new SAS is a residential school’.”
Bailey couldn’t believe his ears. Could this be an answer to his prayers? “Please tell me what you mean by residential?”
“It’s a boarding school; students who go there, live there.”
“How?” asked Bailey. It was sounding too good to be true.
“The second and third floors are residence halls, sort of like dormitories, with bathrooms, showers, private cupboards for each student. It’s almost like going away to college.”
It was hard for Bailey to convince himself that the answer to his prayers might actually be close at hand. “How much will this cost us?”
“Nothing, dingbat. It’s a public school.”
“You called me dingbat.”
“Get over it.”
“I’ll bet you skipped work at the canning factory just so you could visit the SAS.”
“Yes, I did.”
“That’s forty dollars we don’t get.”
“Yes, and I might do it again later this week. I’m going to have to take Harvey down there if they accept him. He’ll need help in registering. Or would you rather have me drop the whole thing and go to the canning factory every day?”
“Oh no. Oh no. This is definitely worth it. Most definitely worth it.” He turned out the lamp again, and rolled over in bed so his back was to her. He whispered prayers: “Oh Lord, please let this work out. We’re good, outstanding, tax-paying citizens. We don’t deserve what we’ve been going through. God help us. Amen.”
Then he said, “Do you think I ought to go down to the SAS and talk to their people?”
“I wouldn’t know why. The application process is already underway.”
“Well, I may be able to exert a little extra influence. Let’s not forget I am an important businessman in this city.”
“Oh I could never forget that, Bailey. Now go to sleep.”
The next morning, Wilberta told Harvey all about the SAS. He was enthused, especially after he took a look at the reading list. Now these were books that might be worth reading.
“You think you might like to give it a try then?”
“Oh yeah, for sure.”
Wilberta liked the way things were developing. She felt pride and enthusiasm at the same time. “I’ll have to take you there to get your registration finalized.”
“That’s cool.”
“IF,” she reminded him, “and it’s still an if they accept you there. Nothing’s for certain. The headmaster told me we should know by the end of the week.”
“That’s cool.”
“Now I’d like to show you an e-mail from my mother that I printed out.”
Wil, I don’t know for sure the girl you’re talking about, but I have a hunch. If I had the picture in front of me I might be more help. But there was a Cherokee squaw who was really friendly with our family at one lime. She’s dead now. We all used to assume that she had coupled with some white man, so there she was. People always called the little half-breed “soft feet” because she could run so fast and so quiet in those moccasins of hers. I’m not sure, but there’s always been a family rumor that she had a child at an advanced age. No way (that I know of) to verify it. That’s about the best I can do.
Say hi to Bailey and Glendon for me, but don’t make it too enthusiastic. As for Sasha, give her a big, happy hello. And send my regards to your wayward boarder, whatever his name might be.
“Now that is really interesting,” said Harvey. “Who’s Glendon?”
“That’s Bobo’s real name. He just got the Bobo nickname when he was so young, we’ve just more or less stayed with it.”
“His real name is Glendon?” Harvey couldn’t help laughing. Man, can I have some fun with this, or what?
“Yes, but I’m more interested in talking about ways of finding out how you might be related to our family.”
They were seated at the kitchen table where Wilberta gave Harvey permission to smoke when the rest of the family was out of the house. The closest thing she had to an ashtray was a coffee can. Harvey said, “Well, that e-mail should help.”
“As far as it goes, yes; but Valencia and I will still have some sleuthing to do. Maybe a lot.”
“Mrs. M.,” said Harvey while lighting up, “I’d like to keep this email. How’d that be?”
“You’re welcome to have it. I’ve got it saved on the computer so I can print myself another copy. Who knows? It might lead us eventually to some of the people in your family tree and ours as well.”
Harvey liked Mrs. M. “Thanks a lot,” he said.
“You’re welcome.”
7. INGRID FINCH
The next morning at the breakfast table, after Bobo and Sasha had left for school, Mrs. Mushrush announced that she’d like Bailey to arrange for Ingrid Finch to visit in their home.
Good God almighty, Bailey flinched. “Ingrid Finch in our house? Have you completely lost your mind?”
“No. I want her to come and do a reading for Harvey. Val and I are going to need help anywhere we can find it if we want to learn how Harvey might be related to our family.”
“But Ingrid Finch?”
“Yes. You heard me.”
“But why, for heaven’s sake?”
“She’s got powers. You’ve said so yourself.”
“I’ve said she claims to have paranormal powers. What she really is, is an old bag full of hooey.”
“But she does channeling and personal astrological readings for people all the time. She even gets paid for it.”
“There’s a lot of suckers in the world, what can I say?”
But Wilberta pressed on: “I’ve gone to all the trouble to get Harvey�
�s application for the SAS filled out. If he gets accepted, that’ll be good for him and even better for you.”
Bailey’s hopes did swell every time he thought of Harvey taking up residence at the SAS. He had to give Wilberta credit for that. “But Ingrid Finch?” he whined again.
“Yes, and stop whining. It’s very important to get Harvey into the right school, but for Val and me, it’s also still important to learn how he might be part of our family.”
Bailey didn’t answer. He didn’t want to know how the street scum visitor could be their relative. He just shook his head and sighed.
The drive to work wasn’t a pleasant one, thinking as he was about Ingrid and the promise he’d made to his wife. He even welcomed construction zones and other detours which stalled traffic.
At work, he faced up to it at morning coffee break. He got a cup from the vending machine and took it to Ingrid’s cubicle. The space smelled awful; didn’t she ever bathe?
Bailey didn’t know how to start. Finally, he said, “Ingrid, I thought I’d buy your coffee for you this morning.” He found a corner of her cluttered desk where he could set the Styrofoam cup. “Mind if I sit down?”
She pointed to the chair at the end of her desk. “Sit,” she said. “This is all quite mysterious, Bailey Mushrush.” Ingrid wore layers of scarves which were semi-transparent. Some were short, while others were long. Bailey couldn’t count them all. They were all blue or green or a combination of the two colors.
“Well, I have a favor to ask.”
“A favor,” she repeated. She had a sardonic smile on her face which made her look even more like a witch. She took a small sip of the hot coffee. “This is black coffee. There’s no cream or sugar in it.”
“Well, I wasn’t sure how you took your coffee.”
“That’s not surprising. Why should you know anything about me? Like everyone else in the office, you make it a point to avoid me.”
Bailey looked down. “I’m real sorry about that, Ingrid.”
“Sorry is fine. But if we want to proceed, I’m going to need cream and sugar in my coffee. Double sugar.”
“But the machine doesn’t have cream and sugar to add, Ingrid. I’d have to buy a whole ’nother cup and press the cream and sugar buttons.”
Harvey Porter Does Dallas Page 3
