When the Men Were Gone

by Marjorie Herrera Lewis

  Moose stood and began pacing.

  I waited. At one point, I looked down and closed my eyes. Our Father, who art in heaven . . . Shortly before my thoughts reached amen, Moose interrupted me.

  “You sure do care an awful lot.”

  “I saw Jimmy and Bobby Ray at the airfield hangar Wednesday. I saw them watch as the body of their football coach was taken from the plane. They’re off to war next. Yes, Moose. I do care an awful lot.”

  Moose looked at me and in an unconvincing fashion said, “I guess I can’t say no.”

  “Well, that’s just not good enough.”

  “What? I just said I’d do it. What else do you want from me?”

  “What else do I want from you? Let me tell you, Moose. If you’re agreeing to do this because you can’t tell me no, well, I can’t accept that. You have to want this. You have to tell me you trust me. And you have to mean it, because if you don’t, then we’re better off just locking the doors to the field house. Now.”

  I stood up, grabbed my purse, and turned toward the door when I heard Moose whisper from behind me.

  “I trust you, Miss Tylene.”

  Monday

  As planned, Moose met me at the field house. When I saw him, I did a double take. He had bathed, was clean-shaven, and had cut his thick, dark hair and combed it so nicely I could even see a dash of Clark Gable. The air about him was a total departure from the Moose I’d once had in my ninth-grade English class. Back then, I’d ask him a question about the material, and his answer was always the same: “Not today.” With my quick glance at him that morning, I knew, today had at last arrived.

  “Eight o’clock sharp,” I said as Moose walked into the locker room.

  “You can count on me,” he said. “I’m nervous, but I’m excited. I barely slept all weekend.”

  Because Moose had played for the Lions just three years prior, I had very little to show him. He was familiar with the locker room setup, so we walked onto the field.

  “The field’s clearly in bad shape,” I said, “but don’t worry about that now. We’ll talk about it after practice when you come by my house. Remember, you’ll have the field from three o’clock to four thirty, same as when you played, so I’ll expect you by five o’clock.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said.

  I turned to leave when Moose asked softly, “You believe in me, don’t you, Miss Tylene?”

  I turned back. “Yes, Moose, I do.” I then smiled and asked, “By the way, what do you want us to call you?”

  Apparently surprised by the question, Moose stumbled over his answer. “What? Wow. Okay. How about Coach? I’d like to go by Coach.”

  “Then that’s it. Good luck with your first practice. I’ll see you at my house by five o’clock, Coach.”

  He smiled and nodded. Again, I started to leave, but this time I sensed his anxiety, so I stopped and turned to him.

  “I’ll watch practice from my car in the parking lot,” I said.

  “What? That’s not necessary, Miss Tylene.”

  “Are you saying it wouldn’t make you feel better knowing I’m out there watching?” I asked.

  “No, no, I’m not saying that at all,” he said. He then paused.

  “So?” I asked.

  “It’ll be awful hot out there. You sure you want to do that?”

  “I don’t want the boys to see me. Might seem like I’m undermining your authority, but I think I can advise you more effectively if I see it for myself.”

  “I appreciate this, Miss Tylene. I really do.”

  I headed back to my office. I kept my fingers crossed, but mostly, I prayed.

  I WAS CONVINCED Moose, as promised, would spend the day studying the plays I had prepared. It wasn’t the knowledge of football that worried me, though. I knew Moose could play football, but I had no idea if he could coach it. I kept my promise to Moose to observe practice from afar, but when the boys arrived for practice at three o’clock, I was nervous. I parked two spots behind Mr. Redwine’s 1937 Ford coupe. Because of the distance, my pickup could not be seen from the field, but I could only see everything clearly between the twenties. Beyond that, I’d have to find a new vantage point and get to it without being spotted by the boys. I surveyed the parking lot so as to plan ahead.

  Moose seemed almost oblivious to the boys as they entered the field house. He was on the field, searching for rocks and tossing them to the sidelines. Once the field house door sprang open and the team began to emerge—offense, shirts; defense, skins—Moose had positioned himself just outside, extending his hand to welcome each boy, one by one. The seniors emerged first. I was close enough to hear.

  “Who’s this?” Charlie said, his fingers mussing Moose’s freshly cropped hair. “What happened to Moose? Where’s Moose?”

  The others laughed. Moose appeared to ignore the ribbing, but even from my vantage point, I could see it bothered him.

  Once everyone was outside, Moose gathered the team together and shouted so all could clearly hear him—including me.

  “I was just asked by a senior, ‘Where’s Moose?’ Well, let me tell you something—Moose ain’t here. Moose played football a few years ago. Went off to war and came home with a limp and a new life. Now, fellas, I’m Coach. You better get used to that, because it’s the only way you’ll play football this season. Got that?”

  Everyone was silent. Then someone in the back laughed. Everyone turned around, but it appeared they were not certain who the culprit was. Then another guy laughed. And then another. I jotted down names.

  “Moose—I mean, Coach—no disrespect, but we can’t just shift gears like that,” Jimmy said. “We stand with you, but to us, you’re still Moose. Maybe lighten up a little. It’s just kind of weird.”

  I knew what Jimmy was talking about. Just a few years earlier, Jimmy’s big brother, Stanley, was Moose’s teammate. Stanley was captain of the football team, and Moose was known as the team cutup. He was known to be lazy and to have had bad practice habits. But everyone in town knew Moose loved football, and on game day, it was clear: No one was more competitive.

  Moose seemed to listen to the boys, but it was time to get started, so with his whistle around his neck, play sheets in his right hand, and a pencil in his left, Moose began his first practice.

  He shouted out the names of the starters and told them to take their positions at midfield, the only part of the grass that didn’t have too many rocks. Everyone complied, yet each moved slowly in the hundred-degree heat.

  “Okay, guys, speed it up,” Moose shouted as he tried to hurry the team. “We have only nine practices to get ready for Stephenville. We need to get in shape, and we need to learn the plays. Let’s hustle.”

  At that moment, I thought I’d heard a foot-to-gravel sound approaching from behind me. I was leaning against the hood of my truck when I glanced over my left shoulder, but I saw nothing. I turned back and continued to watch practice. At one point, a play extended beyond the twenties, so I dashed to my right, hid behind Mr. Redwine’s car, and squatted so as not to be seen. I took the pen from above my right ear and began jotting down notes when the sound of gravel crunching again caught my attention. I knew the boys couldn’t see me from the field, but I couldn’t hide from others in the parking lot, so I looked back once more but saw no one. It wasn’t until I had an eerie feeling I was being watched that I looked back yet again. This time, when I turned around, I saw that I wasn’t alone.

  Moonshiner, Roger Duenkler’s father, was hovering over my right shoulder. I figured he’d been standing behind truck cabins each time I had turned back to mask his approach so I wouldn’t see him. I tucked my notes under my left arm.

  “Come out to watch Roger?” I asked. I stayed squatted.

  “That was the plan,” he said, “until I saw you. I’ve found your behavior much more interesting. So I’m asking myself, ‘What’s Tylene up to? Why is she hiding out in the parking lot taking notes?’ Can’t say that I have an answer.”

  �
��All good questions, Gil,” I said. I then stood up and walked to my truck. Before opening the door, I looked back at him.

  “How can you live with yourself?” I said. “Beating up on your own son.”

  “No business of yours, Tylene.”

  “When the welfare of one of my students is in jeopardy, Gil, it becomes my business,” I said. And then I leaned in close to Gil and said softly, “I’m going to keep an eye on Roger. He comes to school with so much as a scraped knee, and I’m calling the authorities.”

  Gil laughed.

  “Take my advice: Stick to your own business,” he said.

  I said nothing, but I was hoping he would do the same.

  Gil walked off and headed for the bleachers, joining a smattering of curious onlookers. I stayed in my truck for a few minutes, then got out and got back to work. I took notes while standing beside my truck, the heat beating down on me. I could only imagine how hot it must have been for the boys. Still, I noted: No excuses.

  About a half dozen boys along the sideline began tossing a football. Initially, I thought they were loosening up, but after a few minutes, I realized that they had plans of their own, and those plans did not include listening to Moose.

  “Come on, Moose,” I whispered to myself. “Take control.”

  Instead, Moose continued to engage the starters he was working with. What I could discern from their actions was that the offense was to run a few plays I had drawn up, and the defense was to keep the offense from advancing the ball. It was a walk-through, so there was no tackling, and the boys’ lack of enthusiasm left me wondering if they had yet bought in to Moose as the head coach. They continued to go through the motions, but what I was watching was the quietest football practice I had ever seen, and that’s never a good sign.

  Thirty minutes into practice, Jimmy called the offense, including the reserves, to a huddle. Although I had no idea what Jimmy was telling the boys, I knew he must have said something meaningful, because the remaining sixty minutes of practice were more productive. The boys were slightly more in sync. I couldn’t help but notice that Jimmy appeared to have more command of the boys than Moose did.

  ONCE HOME, I waited anxiously for Moose to arrive, which he did at five o’clock sharp.

  “You clearly learned something in the military about promptness,” I told him.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Moose entered, and all I could see was defeat in his face.

  “What would you prefer, a tall glass of water, iced tea, lemonade?” I asked as we approached the kitchen.

  “A tall glass of water sounds great,” Moose said. He pulled out a kitchen chair and sat down.

  I grabbed a pair of tall glasses from the cupboard and filled them with ice and water. “So, Coach, what’s your impression? How’d it go?”

  “Not good,” Moose said. “I know the boys want to play, but I have to wonder if they really believe we will. Jimmy commanded more respect out there than I did. While I was running things, the boys were slow to get moving, and when they did, it was because Jimmy had taken over. I don’t think they take me seriously. I’m sure you noticed.”

  I put the water glasses on the table and sat directly across from Moose.

  “What are you going to do about that?” I asked.

  “I was hoping you would tell me.”

  “You just said they don’t take you seriously. If that’s true, then why?”

  “It’s strange. I’ve seen the boys around town since I returned, and I know they respect me for my service, I really do. They’ve even said as much. But they don’t seem to respect me for me. I guess if they honestly thought we’d have a season, they’d work harder, but it feels like they’re not convinced. I mean, it’s been just one practice, but even to me it felt like wasted time.”

  “Can you say you took away any positives?” I asked. “What worked?”

  “Once we got into our formations, we ran a few plays. The boys seemed to enjoy that. They liked the walk-through, but I felt disorganized.”

  “That’s probably expected for a first day, Moose. Don’t beat yourself up over that. But maybe you do need to spend more time preparing. More time looking over the plays. Get yourself so familiar, you can call them without looking at the sheets.”

  I then reminded Moose that I had already sequenced the plays. All he had to do was have the boys run through them one at a time, until each play ran smoothly. Repetition. Repetition. Repetition. I pounded the word into Moose’s brain. Repetition.

  By the time he had finished his glass of water, I had nothing more to add. Memorize the plays. Know the order for practice. Run a play. Repeat the play. Run the next play. Repeat the next play. Remind the boys of their assignments. Work on technique. Make sure everyone pays attention. Get organized at home; it’ll present itself on the field.

  “Got that?” I asked. I didn’t let him leave until I was comfortable that he was comfortable. I also assured him I’d observe again the next day.

  MINUTES AFTER MOOSE left my house, Jimmy arrived. Jimmy told me he had walked the few blocks to my house straight after practice. Said he’d seen Moose’s truck outside, so he waited until Moose had left to knock on my door.

  Jimmy preferred a glass of lemonade, so once I poured it, we sat together at the kitchen table. From time to time, I’d get up to stir the stew I was preparing for dinner.

  “Stanley and Moose were teammates, remember?” Jimmy asked.

  I nodded my yes. I knew exactly where this was going.

  “It doesn’t feel right, Miss Tylene.”

  “Because it’s Moose and not Stanley?”

  “When Stanley and Moose played football together, Stanley was the leader, and Moose? I don’t have to tell you about Moose.”

  “I can’t fix that, Jimmy. You know that.”

  In a soft voice, while still looking down at his lemonade, Jimmy said, “It should be Stanley.”

  After a minute of silence, Jimmy looked up at me.

  “This war. It’s changed everything. And I’m so angry, I want to just sign up, find those guys who shot off Stanley’s leg, and finish the job for him.”

  I got up to stir the stew again.

  “What’s keeping you?” I asked.

  Jimmy didn’t answer.

  “Moose is never going to be respected, and you know as well as I do, Miss Tylene, you can’t play for a coach you don’t respect,” he said. “Stanley, he’d get more respect from his wheelchair.”

  I sat back down, looked into Jimmy’s eyes, and asked, “Do you want to play football?”

  “I do. I really do,” he said without hesitation.

  “So?”

  “The guys do, too,” Jimmy said. “I guess I’m mad at myself for not getting us off to a better start. I need to support Moose. I can’t look at Moose and think of Stanley. It’s not fair to Moose, and it’s not fair to the team.”

  With the palm of my hand, I tapped Jimmy on his forearm as it rested on the table. I couldn’t help but wish there was something I could do to bring Stanley to town to lift Jimmy’s spirits and to let him know Stanley would be all right.

  “I shouldn’t burden you with this,” he said as he stood up.

  “Maybe I’ve put the burden on you?”

  “Oh, no, Miss Tylene. When Coach Young named me captain last spring, I knew I had to step up. I just didn’t have any idea of what that would mean.”

  “Jimmy, what it means now is no Moose, no season. We’ll make this work.”

  “Looks like we have to, Miss Tylene. We’ll make it work. We’ve got that first practice out of the way, so I guess the toughest part of the season is behind us.”

  Chapter 4

  Wednesday

  After watching yet a third practice from the parking lot, I drove home with more questions than answers. My head was swirling with what I’d viewed as an unsettling contradiction. Initially, I was struck by the boys’ promptness and high level of enthusiasm. I was encouraged when I arrived to find the bo
ys dressed for practice and out on the field. They were tossing the football, running routes, punting, and roughhousing the way I’d seen them do when their spirits were high.

  Then Moose emerged from the field house, and the team went stale. There was no other way to describe it. Why? I wondered. Why did Moose’s appearance kill the joy? When Moose called the boys to the huddle, why did they move with no enthusiasm? Why do they appear so eager to play, yet when it came time for an organized practice, they seemed disinterested? I was truly puzzled, and I knew I had to prepare for a long, deep discussion with Moose that night. I needed to get to the core of the problem, because we had to fix it. I was expecting to discuss my frustrations with John when I entered the house through the kitchen. Instead, I found John standing in front of the stove wearing a sport coat.

  “Going somewhere?” I asked.

  “Yep,” he said. Then he smiled. “You’re coming, too.”

  “Going out on a Wednesday?”

  “Not just out, but out to dinner. The dinner.”

  “What? Why?”

  “It’s gotten to be like Grand Central Station around here with Moose coming by every night, and now Jimmy, too. Don’t get me wrong, I got no trouble with it. But tonight, I want you all to myself, so we’re going into hiding.”

  I laughed. “Hiding?”

  “Get your mind off everything. We have a reservation at the Hotel Brownwood steak house. No one will look for us there. Just you and me.”

  “John, that’s so thoughtful, but we don’t have that kind of money.”

  “We do tonight.”

  Although we rarely spent money frivolously, and we certainly did not have money to spare, I was overjoyed by John’s enthusiasm. I felt a spring in my step as I walked to the bedroom to freshen up and change clothes. Like I did every evening when I’d get home from watching practice from the parking lot, I cleaned up first, but instead of throwing on my housedress and slippers, I slipped into my favorite dress—blue velvet that draped to midcalf. I put on a velvet-bowed hairnet with a forehead veil, a rhinestone brooch, white wrist gloves, seamed stockings, and my black peep-toe heels. I also put my short string of pearls back on. I’d never left the house without my pearls, given to me many years ago by my mother.