by Karen Wolff
“Fifteen bucks. Where am I going to find that? I don’t think you need to come back. I don’t plan to join.”
The man opened his eyes wide. “Well, Mr. Alphonse Didder whatever your name is. We’ll just see about that,” he said, and went out the door.
I let out a big whoosh of breath from the tension. “Who does he think he is to talk to you like that?” I said.
“He’s the organizer for the Klan, Harry. Walter Trometer told me they sent him in from Indiana to get this thing going here. His name is Rufus Laycock. He’s been around pestering everybody to sign up, and he kind of threatens them if they don’t.”
“Will he try to do something to you? Will he hurt you?”
“Nah. It’s all just bluster, I think.”
I wasn’t so sure. I hated to leave Grandad alone in the store after that, but I had to see about my new job. What I had seen that day gnawed at me all the way to the skating rink. The more I heard and saw of this KKK business, the less I liked it. I couldn’t forget Don Beaubien’s fight with the bullies at the school and the report I’d heard of the cross burning in Alcester. So far I hadn’t seen anything good come of the KKK, and I was beginning to doubt they would ever do those great things the preacher talked about.
BEFORE LONG, GRAM heard from Dr. Brunner. The Veterans Bureau had checked the records, and Dad was entitled to receive an artificial arm. The letter said that he’d been offered one before he was discharged, but he had turned it down.
“I wonder why he did that,” I said.
“I can’t imagine,” Gram said. “I suppose he was already feeling mulish.”
“Makes me wonder what he’ll do when he finds out about this,” Ty said. He was nervous about everything, and I felt a little niggle of worry too.
“We have to try,” I said. “Otherwise his life is just going to go on and on with him not able to do anything and feeling awful about it.”
We figured out how the thing worked by poring over the Marks Manual of Artificial Limbs that came with the letter. The artificial arm was held in place with straps that went under the arms and around the chest.
“I’ll bet that’s a hot contraption to wear,” Granddad said. We nodded.
A flexion strap controlled the arm movement, and a hook was attached in place of a hand. The manual described the hook as “the most desirable and useful implement for the laboring man.” It could close or spread apart in order to grab hold of things and was managed by flexing the bicep. A picture showed a man digging his garden with a spade using both his good hand and the hook. Another featured a man throwing a ball with his artificial arm.
This sounded almost too good to be true. Surely Dad would want to have such a thing, but the questions haunted me. How would we raise the subject with him? Who would do it? What if he wouldn’t even try it on? What if we got it on him and his bicep wouldn’t work?
We hadn’t figured out any of that, but all of us thought we should move forward. Gram wrote to Dr. Brunner that night and asked him to make the arrangements to get the arm. She put down Dad’s height and what she guessed his arm length would be by measuring his shirtsleeve. We decided she should let Sally McVay know what we were doing so she might help us when the time came. Now we would just have to wait and hope for the best, but my insides knotted up every time I thought about what Dad’s reaction would be.
MEANWHILE, I WAS learning my job at the skating rink where I was to help people put on their rented skates. Being the newest boy, I was assigned the Number Four position. As customers came in, they’d start with the Number One position, and, if there was a crowd, they’d work down to me. At first I was clumsy, handling their shoes and all, but it got easier every day. Part of the job was to keep all the skates in good working order, oiling them and replacing the straps when necessary. It made me feel important to go around with the skate key on a piece of string around my neck. I was proud that folks saw me as a member of the staff. It made me feel like I belonged. Maybe I was on my way to being somebody.
The head boy was named Russ Popken, and he was sixteen years old. I admired just about everything about him. He was tall and wore his dark hair slicked down and shiny. His face was tan and showed off the whitest teeth I’d ever seen. The thing that got me the most was that he had a car to drive. I couldn’t believe that somebody that young could go anywhere he wanted. Sometimes he and the other boys took off after work and went to Beaverton. I don’t know what they did there, but I was impressed and hoped they would invite me to go some day.
I worked every chance I got and saved just about everything I made. It was only three weeks until high school would start, and I got jittery when I thought about it. I looked down at my old, worn work boots and knew they wouldn’t do. I wanted new shoes and some long pants. I figured if I could put by five dollars, I could manage. That would mean putting on fifty pairs of skates at ten cents a pair. It would be close, but maybe I could do it.
Just when I got that figured out, it seemed like people only came in twos and threes, and I didn’t get any customers. I prayed for a herd of people to come all at once and make me rich, but I had to be patient.
Russ noticed my frustration. One day he said, “I’m going to go get some cigarettes. Sam, you want to come with me?” Sam was the Number Two boy.
Sam jumped at the chance, so Russ told Harold, the Number Three boy, to move to first position and me to move to the second. That day I made two dollars. That was more like it, and I was grateful to Russ whenever he gave me a chance to get ahead like that.
Mr. Crill said the skating rink would close after the first weekend in September, so I continued to work as much as I could. The money started to add up. Gram was dumfounded when I gave her $25.00 to order my new school clothes and shoes from the Sears and Roebuck catalogue.
“Harry, I’m real proud of you. I had no idea you were making this kind of money.”
I grinned. It was a powerful feeling to know that I wouldn’t have to ask Gram for anything, and I made up my mind that, no matter what happened in the future, I was never going to go without money. My success made me want to strut, to holler, to tell everybody how good it felt. Why, I could even buy myself a coke or a candy bar if I wanted. I prayed Gram wouldn’t think she needed a cut of it.
Russ and the other boys included me in their group regularly now. Sometimes we just drove around, talking and laughing, looking for something fun to do. They all bragged about their girlfriends. Whose was better looking, whose was the better dancer or kisser, and they kept hinting at a big IT. I was pretty sure I knew what they meant, but I wasn’t about to ask.
“Did you ever kiss a girl, Harry?”
“Oh yeah,” I said, casually, like it was an everyday event, but I was quick to change the subject. The only thing I could brag about was that I’d visited the Sudan in Sioux City, and they liked hearing about that. Maybe because I fudged a little on the truth of it just to keep it interesting.
I told Russ I was going to start high school.
“Good for you, Harry,” he said. “I wish I weren’t so lazy. That’s what I should be doing. You gonna play football and all that stuff?”
“I dunno. Gotta wait and see.”
“I suppose you’ll be going to dances and parties.”
I hadn’t given that a thought, but I said, “I suppose so.”
“You got a girl?”
“No. Well, sorta, I guess.” I didn’t know if Carol Ann was my girl or not, but I kind of thought of her that way.
“Well, she’ll want you to take her to dances. You just wait and see.”
My heart plummeted. I didn’t know the first thing about dancing. “I…I don’t know how to dance,” I said, feeling lower than a snake’s belly. “Do you know how?”
“Oh, I’ll say. My girl Darlene and I go to all the dances. She’s a great dancer. We go everywhere, especially when there’s a good band. River Sioux, sometimes to the Rigadon in Sioux City, or to the Tromar Ballroom in LeMars.” He lit up a cigarett
e and blew the smoke out the window. I thought he was the smoothest, most sophisticated fellow I’d ever met.
“I’ll tell you what, Harry. I’ll talk to Darlene and see if she’d teach you how to dance. Then you’ll be ready for high school.”
RUSS TOOK ME to Darlene’s house several times that summer so she could teach me. How different her home was from mine. A bunch of younger brothers and sisters poured out of the house whenever we drove up. They didn’t care about the loose, unpainted house siding or the tall weeds in the yard. They were too busy having a good time, everybody laughing and talking.
Inside, we pushed back the worn furniture in the living room, tables with no varnish left on them and a battered couch that could hold four or five of the younger kids. Darlene’s mother, Pearl, dropped her housework for these occasions and took a seat at the big, black piano, and we danced on the blue-flowered linoleum floor. Pearl played the piano by ear, and she knew all the latest tunes. Sometimes she just made things up so the music would be right for whatever step we were working on.
We started with the box step. Left foot forward, right foot slide. Right foot forward, left foot slide. I did the steps by myself several times, then Pearl started the music and Darlene and I danced as a couple. At first I was shy about putting my arm on her waist, but Russ didn’t seem to mind, and I finally got used to it. He danced with one of the sisters while Darlene was teaching me. Something about the music seemed to infect all the kids. The minute it started, they were up and dancing with each other, not embarrassed if girls danced with girls, or boys with boys. They just had to move.
Darlene showed me how to use my left hand to guide my partner to do turns. This was the most amazing fun I had ever had. We danced till we were out of breath, then someone made popcorn and we relaxed for a while. Eventually we moved on to the two-step with its quick, quick slow, slow movements, and then I learned the waltz. Darlene told me to listen to the music and let it tell me what to do. She said I was a “natural.” I couldn’t wait to show Carol Ann what I had learned. After a few sessions, I knew I was ready for the first dance.
ONE RAINY DAY the rink wasn’t doing any business so Mr. Crill told us all we could leave. Instead of going home, Russ drove us to Beaverton where we walked up and down the streets, looking in store windows, talking about what we would buy when we had some real money. The others all wanted to see a Buster Keaton movie at the new Hipp Theater. I felt guilty spending money for a ticket, but I’d never seen a movie, and I couldn’t have resisted any more than I could have turned down a free hundred-dollar bill. I had to do it.
The movie was called Sherlock Jr., and I almost made myself sick I laughed so hard. Everything Buster Keaton tried was wrong, and he had to put it right to win his girlfriend and keep her away from the sheik. In one scene he hung off a ladder on a big water tower at the railway station. The water poured out and washed him down onto the train track. It’s a wonder it didn’t kill him.
I had a fine time and couldn’t wait to tell Ty about it. We started for home after dark, replaying the scenes and laughing at them all over again.
“That was so funny, I’d like to see it at least one more time, maybe twice,” Sam said.
We all agreed we’d go again after the next payday. Contented with our plans, we settled down for the ride home. As we got near Richmond, we noticed flames high on the bluff just north of the town. We got quiet pretty fast because it wasn’t just any old fire. A huge cross was burning up there. Russ slowed down and stopped. We sat, petrified with fear, staring at the sight. I shuddered because I knew what it meant. The KKK cross burnings meant that the Klan was after somebody, or that someone had done something they didn’t like. Who was it? Anybody I knew? I thought of that Rufus Laycock, and I was scared for Granddad.
When Russ parked in front of my house, we could see people standing around outside their houses looking up at the high bluff. A few of the men were members of the local Klan. They acted sheepish and claimed to know nothing about the burning. So far as I could tell, nobody could say who was responsible or why it had been done. We watched for at least another hour, grateful to see the fire begin to sputter out. Folks talked quietly among themselves, and then started returning to their homes. Russ took off with Harold and Sam.
Ty and I stood outside in the yard with Gram and Granddad. “That scared the bejesus out of me,” Ty said.
“Me too. I wonder who did it,” I said.
Gram shook her head. “I don’t like this a bit. That Klan stuff is no good.”
“A bunch of fools,” Granddad said as we turned and went inside. We still felt upset about it and talked until late that night. I don’t think any of us slept too well. I know I didn’t.
A COUPLE OF DAYS later Gram reported that she had seen Sally McVay about the new arm that was coming for Dad. “I asked her to tell Cal that the doctor and Uncle Lyle would drive out next Tuesday, but not to tell him about the arm. Just tell him there’ll be a nice surprise.”
“That’s good, Gram,” I said. “He won’t have time to work up a head of steam about it.”
“Sally said she’d try to get that Rufus Laycock out of the house before we arrive.
It sounded like she’d be glad to see the last of him.”
“I’d think so,” said Granddad. “After the way that guy talked to me the other day, I can’t think of anybody who’d want him around.”
“She said he talks to Cal about the Klan all the time. That he’s putting the pressure on Cal to join,” Gram said.
“I wish he wouldn’t do that. I hope he doesn’t join,” I said. Dad had enough hateful ideas in his head without the Klan adding to them.
“Well, he never leaves the house,” Ty said, “so maybe it doesn’t matter one way or another.”
Uncle Lyle and Doctor Brunner showed up as promised, so Ty and I went to Sally’s house with them. Dad sat at the kitchen table. His eyes were big, and I could see him
jiggling his feet under the table. He didn’t get up to greet us as we came in. It had never occurred to me that my dad might be nervous about our coming. He was always so sure of himself, but he looked downright scared now.
“Hello, Cal,” Dr. Brunner said. “I haven’t seen you for a while. How are you feeling? That stump giving you any problem?”
“No. It’s just useless. That’s all.” His voice was high pitched and jittery.
“Well maybe that’s going to change today,” said Uncle Lyle, grinning broadly.
“Look what we brought you.” He put the big box on the table and proceeded to open it.
“Wha… What the hell?” Dad said.
I was so excited I piped up, “It’s an artificial arm, Dad. So you can do more things.”
Dad looked over at me and then stood up and stared into the box. Even though it was a hot day, my hands felt like ice, waiting to see his reaction. I was afraid he’d get mad, stomp out of the room or something. He just stood there looking at it.
Uncle Lyle said, “C’mon, Cal. Let’s try it on,” and started to help Dad out of his shirt.
“No, I don’t think so. They tried to give me one of these things when I was discharged. They’re no damn good.” He backed away from Uncle Lyle.
“Well, let’s just try it and see. Doc here will make sure it fits right.”
Before he could say anything else, Sally got the rest of his buttons undone and whipped his shirt off his left arm. I hadn’t seen Dad without a shirt since he came home from the war, and my throat closed when I saw his stump. It was a horrid, withered looking thing, a deep reddish-brown color, and it got narrow as it came down to where his elbow had been. I felt my insides curl up to think of how much pain it must have caused him. Maybe it still hurt.
We stood quietly, scarcely breathing, while Doc fixed the straps around Dad’s chest and buckled them. Then with great care, he attached the arm to the stump and rigged up the flexion strap.
“Now, Cal. You have to use your shoulder to lift this arm up. Can you try it?�
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“I can’t. I can’t move it. I want to take the damn thing off.”
“Your shoulder is weak, Cal, ‘cause you haven’t been using it. It’s gonna take a while for you to get your strength up.”
“No. No, this isn’t going to work. I already know that.” His eyes darted around from person to person.
Sally walked up, stood in front of him, and looked him straight in his eye. “You need to try it, Cal. I know you can do it. You just have to try really hard.” She went around behind him and moved his shoulder for him, and the arm jerked.
“That’s it,” we all said. “You can do it.”
My every muscle was in a knot, I was so anxious for this thing to work. I tried to make my shoulder feel like Dad’s must have felt. Every time Sally moved his shoulder, mine moved too. His lips drew tight over his teeth, and his forehead wrinkled with the effort. She continued to pump his shoulder until, after several tries, he finally was able to make a small movement himself.
Ty and I yelled and danced around. “You can do it, Dad. We knew you could.”
Dad let go a big breath, and I realized he’d been holding his breath too.
Doc said, “Now the next thing is to get your bicep to work ‘cause that’s how you open and close the hook. It’s gonna be hard. You haven’t used the thing except to cuss at it for a long time. Let’s just try it.”
The kitchen was hot on this August afternoon, and perspiration was running down Dad’s face. Sally stepped up to wipe it off. “You’re doing fine, Cal,” she said. His eyes followed her as she backed away.
“I can’t make it move. I want to quit this.”
“Pretty soon,” Doc said. “I want to make sure this thing works. Try real hard.”
“Please, Cal,” Sally said.
He looked down at the hook, took a deep breath, and strained to make his arm muscle move. Every time he tried to squeeze his arm, I squeezed mine too as if I could transfer my effort to him. He tried over and over, but nothing happened.
