The Didactor

by Roy F. Chandler

  Finding his can empty, Eberson bellowed for a refill and studied Mother Ruby's imposing bulk as she thrust a full can into his hand.

  "Anybody know how come Ruby women get so wide in the butt?"

  A few men chuckled, "Must be 'cause they sit on 'em too much, Eberson," One volunteered.

  "No, it's 'cause we don't kick 'em enough," Old Pap ventured. Appreciative chuckles rippled across the group.

  "Maybe us Rubys ought to quit marryin' them Shattuck girls," Eberson suggested.

  "Oh yeah? Well, them Ruby gals we're hitched to ain't any skinnier, Eberson! Christ, that woman of mine takes the whole damn bed."

  "What's the matter, boy? Don't that little old gal o'mine suit you no more?"

  "That ain't it, Eberson. She better suit me or I'll send her flyin' right back to her daddy!"

  "Like hell you will. Thought I'd never get rid o'her till you come along. I ain't takin' her back no how."

  "Maybe we feed these gals too good, paw," Ralph Ruby interjected.

  "Yeah, my woman eats all the time. Christ, I buy enough fixin's for three families an' I only got three kids," a man exclaimed.

  "Three today, four damn soon!"

  "Yeah, but how could you tell? She's so damn fat I didn't know it showed!"

  "Hey, man, maybe that's it. Maybe they get fat from havin' all them kids."

  "Wanta put 'em all on them birth control pills or somethin'?"

  "Naw, them goddamn things cause cancer. I read it in a paper one time."

  "Hey, Ralph, you already got six young-uns. Why don't you go get your cords cut like some o'them city guys do? Sure would make your old lady happy. Christ, she might even pay for it!"

  There was coarse laughter at Ralph's expense.

  "You're just a mite nervous, neighbor, 'cause you figure a big stud like me might have dropped by an' got next to your Betty Lou while you was off drivin' that big old truck all over the country."

  Ralph's sally drew more laughter until Eberson's raised voice brought silence to the room.

  "Well, let's get down to why we're all here."

  He noted the quieting in the kitchen as the women sought to hear the discussion.

  "Now we all know about that goddamn teacher poundin' my boy Tom." He waited to let angry muttering run its course.

  "Ok, now I've done a heap o'thinkin' on it. Course, I'd like to go into town an' stomp that no-good bastard into the pavement right now, an' I know you boys'd be with me." Again he waited until the enthusiastic support died away.

  "Well, I figure to get to that, but we got a chance here to put a big crimp in that whole goddamn school bunch. Now, our lawyer fella says if we stay cool an' don't rile nobody we got the law on our side an' we can run that Troop clean off, an' maybe Boden along with him."

  He listened to the rumbling approval with satisfaction, knowing he'd stretched the facts a little, but also knowing they would follow his lead and abide by his decisions.

  "Ok, we'll go along with him aways. We won't do nothin' till after that board sets tomorrow evening. Now," He paused, holding their attention, "A bunch of us'll be at that meetin'. If it goes like the lawyer says, we'll hold off till they run Troop out into the open. Then we'll put a proper job on him an' the school people won't have a damn thing to say about it."

  Ralph Ruby butted in, "Yeah paw, but supposin' that board don't do nothin' an' just says, 'Too bad, Rubys.' Then what? I ain't trustin' them lawyers much, paw."

  Irritated that Ralph had hurried him, Eberson glared at his son. "I was comin' to that, boy." He included the group. "Ralph's right! We ain't letting no pointy-headed Harrisburg lawyer hold all our marbles. Not this time an' not never!"

  He held them suspended while he swilled at his beer can."So, in case things don't go just right, Pap, Ralph, an' me'll be ready, an' when the meetin's over, we'll take care o'Troop like it oughta be done!"

  A rash of protests broke out around the room. Eberson quieted them with upraised hand. "Now look here, Tom is my boy. He's Pap's gran'son an' Ralph's brother. It's fittin' we do the bustin' an' breakin'."

  "Oh, for Christ sake, Eberson. Why don't we just draw straws an' shoot the sonofabitch?"

  The suggestion was well received and Eberson was quick to put it down.

  "Look, you people. I'm gonna tell you somethin' you don't never want to forget. Now there's a hell of a lot of them an' only a few of us. They got the law an' the schools. We shoot somebody an' they'll be all over us Rubys.

  "We got two things goin' for us. We pay our way, an' we don't ask no favors from nobody. That bothers the hell out of 'em all. They'd love for us to be on welfare so's they could rub our noses in it.

  "Second, we don't scare 'em too bad. Just enough to make 'em walk easy an' respectful around us, but not enough to make 'em gang up against Rubys.

  "Now don't ever doubt they're all alookin' for reasons to jail us or run us off. If'n we shoot one of 'em, they'll be after us like hounds on a coon. So no shootin'! We'll just bust old Troop up like he did Tom, only some better."

  There were approving grunts.

  "Jesus, Eberson. I wish I'd knowed you wouldn't shoot when you come after me with a shotgun a year ago."

  "Well, Jesse, that's somehow different, an' I shore needed a daddy for lil old Jesse, now didn't I? Anyhow, that's all in the family like."

  They guffawed loudly, pushing and poking at Jesse while Eberson went into the kitchen to take a phone call.

  The men were still joking when he came back and slumped into his chair. A hush fell over the group as they saw speculation mixed with anger ride across Eberson's features. His jaw muscles swelled and loosened and, with visible effort, he brought his attention back to the meeting.

  "That was a fella from town. Says as how Square got in a row with that goddamn Troop and Troop throwed Square into jail!"

  He slammed his empty beer can on the arm of his chair and his voice held barely controlled rage. "That goddamn Square was probably so drunk he couldn't hold his drawers up an' that sonofabitch Troop dumps him in the cooler.

  "All right, goddamn it! All right!" His voice lowered to a hoarse croak. "We'll wait, but as sure as I'm sittin' here, I hope that meeting goes sour 'cause I want that bastard Troop, an' I don't want to be kept waitin'."

  +++++

  Penn State University, 1963

  "Little Rock could be called a current Armageddon, for here the federal government chose to cast aside all pretense and shatter the rights of the individual. It chose to pound home their interpretation of law with the thud and smash of the boots of brutal Army paratroopers trained to kill, maim, and torture. Men so conditioned that they would execute their own mothers on command."

  Troop gathered his materials, stood up, and moved to go.

  Doctor Hagen halted his diatribe, his eye caught by the glitter of service ribbons on Troop's uniform. "Mr. Troop?" He inquired, choosing as always to ignore the non-commissioned officer's stripes covering a large part of Troop's upper arms.

  "Mr. Hagen?" Troop returned the game, ignoring Hagen's doctorate.

  "Has the truth offended your ears, Mr. Troop?"

  Many in the class stirred uncomfortably. Troop was the only student in uniform. The rest of the class was far younger. They were students following the conventional four year program to a degree. Troop attended as a special student. He took a course here and another there. Perhaps someday they would culminate in a degree, perhaps not.

  The class had come to recognize the Army sergeant major because of his uniform, which stood out against their own ragged Levis and ill-fitting shirts, but even more because Professor Hagen took determined offense at a uniformed soldier sitting in his class.

  The teacher directed obvious sarcasm and snide comments toward the US military and its activities, always seeking a retort from Sergeant Troop. To date, he had received nothing more than a stony gaze. This appeared different.

  "No, Hagen, my ears are not offended, more likely my stomach is." Again Troop turned to lea
ve.

  "The truth is often painful, Sergeant Troop." Hagen placed sarcastic emphasis on "Sergeant."

  At the door Troop paused again. He smiled slightly, letting his gaze drift across the expectant students. "Hagen, I have served shoulder to shoulder with many of the men ordered into Little Rock. I've risked life and limb with some of them. I know them far better than you know that asinine speech you have just given. For the most part, they're good men, not unlike your students here. They are young, vigorous Americans doing a job they believe important and doing it well. They serve their country in tasks sometimes unpleasant and often dangerous.

  "Unlike you, who can wantonly shout maledictions from the safety of your pulpit, criticize without responsibility, and ridicule for the semantic pleasure of it, a soldier bears heavy burdens. If he is in error, people may die. It may be himself, a friend, or a fellow American who bleeds.

  "It occurs to me, Hagen, that if you are so wrong, so confused, or so deliberately inaccurate in your analysis of our armed forces, it is not reasonable to expect logic or sincerity, much less accuracy, in anything else you teach."

  Hagen sought to interrupt but was clamped off by Troop's voice, so infinitely more in command than his own. "These students in search of degrees must tolerate your petulant arrogance and gross exaggerations. They have no choice. I have, because I search only for education."

  He added with slicing clarity, "And you, Hagen, have nothing of value to give!"

  He left the classroom and heard scattered applause from students quickly cut off by sharp words from Doctor Hagen. He thought, Why the hell did I bother? I could have just left at the end of the period.

  He considered a moment, realizing he had enjoyed telling off Hagen. He wondered if it was worth the sixty bucks he would lose for failure to complete the course. He turned his steps toward the office of the registrar to make sure he was marked down as "Withdrawn." He wouldn't put it past old Hagen to carry him as absent the entire term, then give him a failing grade.

  +++++

  "Trouble with a guy like Troop is he tries to solve problems with his fists. His solution to anything is always the same, more muscle." The speaker paused to grind his filter tip into one of Bob Share's saucers.

  Leaning over his counter, Share wondered why his customers didn't use the ashtrays ready and waiting on the tables and counter. It sure would make dishwashing less irksome.

  "My girl says Ruby asked for it. He took two pokes at Troop before he got hit back." Harry found himself defending Ben Troop as much out of irritation at his wife's earlier condemnation of the man as from his own certainty of Troop's innocence.

  Sylvester Drum, munching on crisp bacon slices, surveyed his over light eggs with satisfaction, much as an eagle might study a succulent morsel before beginning its swift attack. He listened only casually to the exchange. Already suffering a surfeit of Troop and Ruby judgments, he felt the current discussion held priority far below his breakfast.

  The discussion around him continued unabated as the first man said, "He just didn't have to smash a boy up like that, that's all."

  "Boy? You looked at Tom Ruby lately? Must weigh 210 and all muscle! Anyway, my girl was there and she says Troop didn't have any choice." Harry had the advantage of eyewitness testimony.

  His friend countered, "Now, Ruby aside, you just take the way Troop has lived. Just look at it a minute and you'll see what I mean. Take anything he does, it's always muscle. Look at his Army career, not an officer, but an infantry sergeant, a rifleman, an' real good from what I hear. Ever read his boxin' record, Harry? Knockouts . . . one after another. I got that straight too, from a guy that was in with him. Ever hear how he laid some teacher out in the smoking room at the school?

  "You don't stay up with things, Harry! Then there was Square Ruby just last night. Did Troop stay out of sight and wait for the chief? No! He comes stormin' out and works the guy over right in the center of town. Now if that don't back up what I'm sayin', I'll shovel your walk all winter." He sat back, certain of having clinched his argument.

  Sylvester Drum mopped at egg yolk with a folded piece of toast, interested now that Troop's row with Square Ruby had come up. He hadn't really gotten the straight of that yet and was sorry he'd missed the action. Square could be a mean hombre and he'd have enjoyed watching him take his knocks . . . from a very safe vantage point, of course.

  Harry was proving an unexpectedly capable defender and he jumped onto the Square Ruby incident with glee, for again he was supported by eyewitness evidence, this time his own.

  Harry was aware of his audience's renewed interest, the attention of Bob Share, and also the blond fellow at the counter. He became expansive and his tone almost condescending toward those who merely thought they knew.

  "Well now, you don't have this Square Ruby thing right at all." He pressed an overwhelming advantage, "Now me, I was there right along with Ambrose Hardy and a couple of other men. We seen it all from when old Square came a bellowin' out of the tavern until Troop locked him up for the night and I'm tellin' you straight out, it was something to see."

  His pause was pure theatre, and the shake of his head sorrowed that they'd never be able to comprehend the impact of being a witness to Newport history making.

  "Old Square was mean drunk when he came boiling out of the tavern. He was yellin' an' cussin' Troop out for having slugged his brother Tom. My God, you'd of thought Tom was ten years old and puny at that.

  "Anyway, a bunch of us on the hotel steps tried to shut him up 'cause lights were coming on all over the place and people were poking their heads out of windows. Wasn't no quieting him though, and he stood outside Troop's building yelling for Troop to come out and fight him."

  Again he paused with dramatic timing, as well as to catch his breath. "Now you got to remember, there ain't no lights or nothing up in Troop's place. Far as we knew, Troop wasn't home.

  "All of a sudden old Square hauls off and pitches a beer can at Troop's window an' says if Troop don't come out, he's going up and get him. I guess that did it 'cause all of a sudden there's Troop standin' alongside old Square and saying something soft to him. None of us could make out what it was.

  "But you all know how Square is, meaner'n a polecat with the itch. I wouldn't have been nowhere near there, but I reckon Troop had given up on the chief arriving, so he figured on having to quiet Square before he tried to come up after him. Square'd probably have done it too; you know he's mean and bad when he's drunk.

  "Now I can't tell just how Troop did it, but all of a sudden he just spins old Square around so's he's heading for the jail, gets him by the scalp lock with one hand and reaches right between Square's legs and grabs him by his privates! He just sort of raised old Square up on his toes and marched him off to the hoosegow. Except for Square bellowing for mercy, there wasn't no fuss at all. Troop popped him in the cell and he was there sound asleep when the chief got back."

  He finished the telling with obvious reluctance, as though resenting the end of his moment of glory, then brightened as another thought came to him. "Now that's what I mean about Ben Troop not being mean. Ain't another man in town could've got Square Ruby out of there without a fight, and that includes the chief. If old Troop could march Ruby to jail, think of how easy he could have pounded him into the blacktop!"

  He recovered his coffee cup, secure that he had blunted the other's attack, which he had. Faced with first-hand reporting, speculation seemed pretty weak. Troop's attacker muttered a few ineffectual lines about Troop staying inside and not coming out at all, but his drive was gone and Sylvester, having finished his breakfast, was ready to do a little plumbing.

  Harry also rose, and the three left Bob Share and the blond stranger alone in the snack bar.

  Earl Roebuck had come early to Newport and it looked as if the trip would be worthwhile. This Troop was apparently hell on wheels when it came to fisticuffs. He itemized his new ammunition: former career noncom, ex-boxer, school ground brawler, and now street fighter.
My, my, what a violent nature. This one shouldn't be too tough.

  He dawdled over his coffee, moving the cup around developing circular designs on the Formica counter top.

  Other customers were lacking and Bob Share puttered about straightening and wiping, at times disappearing into his kitchen where a feminine voice joined his in laughter and talk. Roebuck thought perhaps he had sufficiently milked the Sam Spade role and further unidentified lurking might be detrimental when he finally surfaced as the Ruby legal representative. Deciding, he signaled for more coffee and placed payment beside the saucer.

  "Not too busy this morning, I guess?"

  Refilling the coffee mug, Bob Share scooped up the change and wiped away the geometric designs his customer had constructed.

  "Busier around eight, but things slack off a little. They'll pick up before noon. We get a good lunch trade, even on weekends."

  "See you're interested in racing." He waved in the direction of the photos.

  "Yep, follow 'em pretty close. You a fan?"

  "No. Been to a few at Silver Springs, but I don't really follow racing."

  "Well, they run some good cars down there. Ever see number 86 here?" Share pointed out a battered stock car boasting an overhead spoiler that looked a little lopsided.

  Roebuck stared dutifully at the glossy photo. "No, I haven't been often enough to remember numbers or drivers, I guess."

  "Good car! Fast on the straightaways. Good driver too.

  "Takes both to get a checkered flag."

  "Yeah, I guess it does," Then added, "Look, I'm Earl Roebuck. I'm up here to represent Tom Ruby, a student who's having trouble with the school."

  "You a lawyer?"

  "Yeah, is that a bad word around here?"

  "Oh, I don't think so. We even have a few local ones and there's a barrel full of them over in Bloomfield."

  "Uh-huh, I know a few of them."