“Ahaaaa! Dang you, Donnie!” I looked around, and not a soul was in sight, but, heck, I’m not stupid. I knew Donnie threw the dang dirt clod, and then ducked behind the school building.
I stood there looking at his house thinking about how to get even, and then it hit me. Leaving school, I’d noticed Donnie right ahead of me, and when I got to his house, he’d just walked up his driveway toward his back yard. Okay, Mr. Worthless, you’re gonna get yours. I had a plan.
“Sit, Sniffer.” Sniffer plopped down beside the sidewalk, and I picked up a big dirt clod, one that I could barely throw. Then I sneaked up the driveway and slipped around the Echols’s house into their backyard, and sure enough, there was Donnie. Ha, you’ve had it, buster. He didn’t see me, so I drew back, and I was just about to knock a hole in his back when he picked up a stick, leaned over, and started to punch something in the goldfish pond. Oh, boy, is this gonna be good! I took a few silent steps until I was right behind him, and then with just a little shove(ha, it was more than a little shove!) he splattered face first into the goldfish pond. It was the funniest thing you’ve ever seen in your whole, entire life. Donnie stood up with lily pads hanging off him, mad as an old wet hen.
“Ahaaa! Dang you, Richard! I’ll get you for that! I'm gonna hit you so hard it'll knock your socks off!”
“Ha! That’s for the dirt clod in my back, smarty!”
“Richard, you’re gonna regret that for the rest of your stupid life!” He jumped out and started for me, grabbing me around the waist, and then we were rolling and yelling on the ground right in front of the Echols’s back door. All of a sudden something was whacking us and it hurt like heck. I looked up and there was Mrs. Echols swinging a broom.
“Boys, stop that fighting, right now!”
Well, we quit fighting after the last lick of the broom caught Donnie on the side of his head. It kinda knocked him silly, and Donnie was whining as he rubbed his ear.
“Dang, Momma, that hurt!”
Donnie caught another swat with the broom for saying dang.
“Don’t you ever let me hear you say that cussword again!”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Whoa, I had to put my hand over my mouth to keep from laughing.
“Every time I come out here you two boys are fighting. Donnie, you go in the house, and sit on the couch until your daddy gets home, and Richard, go home, and tell your mother I sent you home for fighting.”
"Yes, ma’am," I answered, sniffing like I was really whipped up on and sad ’cause I was fighting. ’Course, most of them broom whacks had hit Donnie, and I just got a couple of glancing blows. I walked down the driveway hanging my head in a fake “I’m so sorry,” but I was laughing like crazy on the inside because Donnie was soaking wet and caked in dirt, and he’d probably get switched when his daddy got home. I’m not only even, I’m way ahead!
Heck, and I sure wasn’t gonna mention nothing to my momma about fighting with Donnie. I ain’t that dumb. Then, when I got down the driveway to the sidewalk, I got to thinking about Donnie coming after me ’cause I shoved him in the goldfish pond and got him in a bunch of trouble, and I decided to swing back by my house and pick up my slingshotso I’d have something to make Donnie back off if he came after me. Shoot, I knew he'd be going crazy to get even with me. In about 20 minutes, I opened the gate to our yard, and plopped down on our front porch.
“Momma, I’m home!”
I was enjoying just sitting there on the steps, thinking about all the things I’d do this summer and still laughing about getting even with Donnie, when Momma came out of the house holding a grocery list. My momma, Sue, is almost as skinny as I am. She has coal black hair and pale skin, and I think she's real pretty. Momma grew up during the Depression, and you’re shor not gonna catch her wasting stuff or sitting around just talking. Heck, everything about our family seems to have something to do with hard work, and Momma is the very worst at trying to work you to death.
“Richard, I’m glad you’re out of school for the summer. I’m going to need a helper around the house. You can start by going down to Echols Grocery and filling this list. Tell Mrs. Echols to charge it.”
“A helper? Whata you mean, a helper? For cryin’ out loud, Momma, I thought this was my summer vacation.”
Heck, Momma didn’t blink an eye and acted as if she didn't hear me, but I got my answer. She could give you one of them hard looks, or maybe slap her hands together, or the very worst was one of them really bad stares that just seem to go right through you. Shoot, no answer from Momma about summer vacation meant it didn’t count as vacation. Around our house there ain’t no vacation from work.
“Oh Momma, don’t make me go to the store right now. I just sat down, and school was terrible.”
“If you’d rather come in and clean house, then I’ll go to the grocery store.”
Well, not much of a choice there. I slowly stood up, took the list from Momma, and started out the front gate. Sniffer ran out from under the house, and we headed for downtown Norphlet. Heck, there ain’t much to Norphlet no more, but it had been a whole bunch bigger town during the oil boom of the 1920s. However, by 1940 the Depression had put so many people out of work and the oil fields had just about dried up, that folks left in droves. Shoot, I’d be surprised if we weren’t down to below a thousand.
Well, my hometown looks kinda like a ghost town now, because most of the buildings are empty and the few businesses that are left are just hanging on, according to Daddy. Everything that’s left is on Main Street and one block over. In the center of the Main Street is the Red Star Drug Store, one of our favorite places, and I guess it’s because it has an old-fashioned soda fountain and serves the best grilled cheese sandwiches around.
Just a little farther down the street is Doc Rollinson’s newsstand. Doc runs the newsstand from a wheelchair, because he had his legs all crushed up in an oil field accident. Hey, I didn’t tell, ya, I’m the town paperboy, so I spend a whole lotta time in the newsstand talking to Doc. Doc is one of my best friends. Heck, he’s gruff a bunch of times, but I know he’s not really mean. ’Course not a day goes by that I don’t hear him say, “A good woman will pull you up, and a bad woman will pull you down.” Whatever the heck that means. Maybe I’m not old enough to figure that out.
It’s my job to come in seven days a week at 5 o’clock, roll them dang, sorry papers, put them in my paper bag, and then walk or run the route. I make $3.50 a week. Well, I don’t hafta tell you that ain’t much for stuff like picture shows, candy bars, and funny books. But that $3.50 has gotta last because they ain’t no such thing as an allowance around our house.
Me and Doc get along real good except for my running late, and he has a hissy fit almost every morning. I’m supposed to be at the newsstand at 5 a.m. to get started rolling the papers, and I know that, but by the time I get out of bed at 5, put on some cutoff shorts, and run to the newsstand, it’s about 5:10 or, if I am really late, 5:20. Doc keeps saying he’s gonna fire me, but, heck, I don’t think he can find another paper boy, so he deducts money from my route money when I’m over 30 minutes late. But you know, Doc is okay, and if I can come up with an excuse, just any old excuse, he won’t deduct nothing. But lately, I’m running out of excuses. I guess I should set my alarm at 4:45, but who in their ever-loving right mind would get up before 5 o’clock?
I kinda like being a paperboy, but there’s a couple of things that give me trouble: the weather and some sorry dogs. Heck, I can take care of them worthless dogs easy as pie, since, like almost every boy in Norphlet, I always carry my slingshot in my paper bag. It’s made from a forked tree branch, and strips of real red rubber from old inner tubes. It’s one of the best in town, and I’m not bragging, but I don’t miss inside of 20 yards. It’s the funniest thing you ever did see when I just wave my slingshot at the older dogs in town. Man, they hightail it under their house so fast you wouldn’t believe it.
So dogs ain’t no big deal, but bad weather is a whole nother thing.
I hate rain the most, especially in the winter when it’s just misting and the temperature is about freezing and a north wind is blowing like crazy. Heck, on those mornings, I know delivering papers is the worst job in the whole, entire world. Shoot, after an hour and a half walking in the rain with the temperature at 35 degrees, I’m just a walking icicle.
Right around the corner and across the street from the newsstand is Echols Grocery. While the War is going on, everyone gets food rationing coupons, so you never knew what you’re gonna get. They ain’t a day that passes that they aren’t out of something, but I don’t go to Echols a lot of time for groceries. I go to sit on the breadbox out front where we meet our friends. It’s about 4 feet square with a hinged lid, and early each morning the bread man comes by and puts bread in the box. If you need a loaf before the store opens, you can just raise the lid on the box, take a loaf of bread, and leave the bread money on the inside of the box in a little tin can.
So that’s my hometown, and as the summer of 1945 began I figured that it would be just like all the other summers I’d spent in Norphlet—quiet and dull—Boy, was I wrong about that.
CHAPTER FOUR
Betting Knives
As soon as me and Sniffer turned the corner on Main Street we could see Echols Grocery, and there on the breadbox sat John Clayton and Ears. Sniffer ran on ahead of me, and by the time I got to the store John Clayton and Ears were petting him.
“Richard, come sit down. Me and Ears were talking about going fishin,’ maybe with the Henry brothers.”
“Can’t. Promised Momma I’d come straight back from the store. I’ll be back after I take these groceries home.”
About that time Rosalie came around the corner heading for the grocery store. Well, I froze, but managed to give her a half way smile, but just as I said “Hi,” John Clayton, who just can’t stand Rosalie, started doing his imitation of a chicken with its head cut off. He was flopping around on the sidewalk like nothing you’ve ever seen trying to make Rosalie get off the sidewalk.
“John Clayton, you idiot! Get out of my way or I’m going to knock your head off with my purse.
Well, of course, with all that going on she didn’t even notice me. She was too busy swinging and kicking at John Clayton. Finally, she jumped over a sprawled-out John Clayton and went into the store. John Clayton could tell I was kinda upset.
“Hey, stupid, have you got a crush on little Miss Uppity?”
Uh, well, naw….”
“Ha, yes you do!” Well, I turned and went into the store before John Clayton could say anything else, and oh, my gosh, Rosalie walked straight toward me, and boy did she look mad.
“Richard, you better tell that friend of yours, stupid, lamebrain John Clayton, to stay out of my reach, or I’m gonna slap his fool head off!”
“Uh, well, Rosalie, he’s really not my friend,” I lied.
“Oh, Richard, don’t give me that.”
“Honest, Rosalie, when you walked in the store I grabbed him and shook him for bothering you.”
“You did?’
“Yeah, and I told him one more time, and I’d really get him.”
“Oh, Richard, you did that for me?”
“Yeah, Rosalie—just for you.”
Rosalie was about to say something else when Mrs. Echols broke in and said, “Richard is that a grocery list in your hand?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Well?”
“Oh, here.” I gave Momma’s list to Mrs. Echols. “Momma said to charge it.” Mrs. Echols nodded and started filling the list while she yelled out the items.
“Richard, tell your mother I’m out of sugar, and I won’t have any till next week.”
“Yes ma’am.”
Well, I missed my chance to really have a good talk with Rosalie because Mrs. Echols kept interrupting until Rosalie left the store. Mrs. Echols finished and I picked up my sack of groceries and walked out the door. Sniffer was sitting beside the breadbox between John Clayton and Ears enjoying all the attention.
“Sniffer! Here! Here! Let him go John Clayton, turn his collar loose.”
“Heck, Richard, he wants to stay here with us. Don’t you Sniffer?”
“Shoot, if you turn him loose, I’ll bet you can’t count to 10 before he’s right by my side.”
“Whata you wanta bet?”
I reached in my pocket, pulled out my old beat-up, trading pocketknife, and held it up. ‘Course, I have a good knife in my other pocket, but heck, we’re always making bets that have to do with knives, and you gotta have both a good knife and a trading knife.
“My knife against yours.”
“Heck, that piece of junk’s not a knife,” laughed John Clayton. By that time Sniffer thought we might be staying awhile, and he’d laid down. John Clayton looked down at Sniffer, who looked almost asleep, smiled, and said. “It’s a bet!” and he started yelling, “1, 2, 3, 4…”
“Swamp! Swamp!” That’s what I holler at Sniffer when we’re heading to the swamp to hunt—shoot, Sniffer’s ears shot straight up, and he was by my side just as John Clayton tried to rattle off the last few numbers. Heck, I knew I’d won. It wasn’t even close.
“You lose! Gimme that knife!”
“I did not! I did not lose! I yelled 10 right before Sniffer got to you.”
“Liar! Liar! Liar! Ears you saw it! Tell John Clayton to gimmie his knife!”
“Well, Sniffer did get to you in a hurry, but John Clayton was countin’ so fast, I don’t know—maybe it was a tie.”
“Tie! A tie! Y’all must be blind! Sniffer had already gotten to me and had sat down by the time John Clayton finished counting!”
“Oh, Richard there you go again. You know darn well Sniffer didn’t sit down, and if Ears can’t tell who won then it’s a tie.”
“Baloney! You guys are cheatin’. I won! And you know it.—Okay, who cares? I’d probably just throw your sorry knife away anyway. I’ll see y’all after I take these groceries home.”
All of a sudden someone goosed me in the ribs, and I almost jumped out of my skin.
“Hey, what?”
“Well, for a slow-moving cheater, you sure can jump.”
“Dang you, Connie, I didn’t cheat! I just beat you!”
“Ha, you stuck your arm out to keep me from passing you!”
“Well, there ain’t no rules against swinging your arm. That’s just the way I run.”
“Oh, you big liar!”
Connie got right up in my face and was shaking her finger at me as I backed up. About that time Ears piped up, “Slug him, Connie.”
Well, that really got a big laugh from all the guys and Connie even smiled. Then she reached up and pushed my hair back from over one of my eyes and said, “Say, you’re kinda cute when you’re mad.”
I thought my friends were gonna just drop over dead laughing, and I started to stutter.
Connie grinned, winked at me, and then walked away.
“Oh, my gosh! Richard’s cute! Cute! Did y’all hear that?”
The laughing didn’t stop until I walked away heading for home.
Cute, Connie said I was cute when I’m mad, hmmm.
When I got back home, Daddy had just come home from work, and he was tuning the radio, trying to find a newscast about the War. Daddy’s real first name is Lavelle, but he really don’t like that for a name, Heck, who would? So he goes by Jack. He’s a big man, at least to me. He’s over 6 feet tall and weighs 190 pounds. His hair is a sandy strawberry, and he has light blue eyes. I’ve heard a bunch of ladies around town say how handsome he is, and Momma warns him all the time about flirting, especially with Miss Simpson, who works in the refinery office.
We get along great, especially during the week when we’re working together after school. Daddy works shift work at McMillan Refinery, and he’s classified as an asphalt stillsman, which kept him out of the War ’cause his job was critical to the war effort.
Well, Daddy’s a nice man, but he does have one problem, and it ai
n’t no little problem. When he goes out, he likes to drink—uh, you know booze—and when he starts drinking he can’t stop. During the week, he never drinks a drop ’cause the refinery has told him if he ever comes to work drunk they would fire him. But when Friday afternoon rolls around, whoa, look out, hold your horses, because Daddy is going to Peg’s Pool Hall or to El Dorado for not just one but a whole bunch of beers. Yeah, that’s the big problem we have at our house, and, heck, it ain’t just the drinking because what little money Daddy has left after drinking all night is usually lent to his worthless friends.
Boy, do I dread weekends, because there’re always a mess. Daddy’s just not the same after drinking a bunch of beer. He staggers in about 10 o’clock, swearing, threatening, and Momma, who shor ain’t shy, lights into him. Man, they can go after it. Well, it my job to get between them because I know some night things might just get out of hand, and I couldn’t stand that, but the way it usually goes is this: Daddy will finally pass out, Momma will go through his pockets to see if there’s any money left to pay bills. And I’ll sit on the side of my bed sniffing until I calm down.
***
Daddy finally managed to find KELD on the radio, and old, fast-talking Walter Winchell started giving forth with the news—on and on he went.
“Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. North and South America and all the ships at sea,—let’s go to press! Bulletin! This just in!
When Walter Winchell was over, it was my turn to have the radio, so I turned on the Green Hornet and right after that, the Lone Ranger. After the “Who was that masked man?” ended the Lone Ranger, my radio shows were over for the night. It was 6 o’clock, time to eat. I finished supper, and after reading a few funny books, I climbed in bed still thinking about summer vacation and Rosalie. I went to sleep with a smile on my face.
CHAPTER FIVE
My Birthday Trip
Lyin' Like a Dog, The Yankee Doctor, The Danged Swamp! 3-Volume set Page 38
