Figure Eight

by Jeff Nania

  The place was packed. A family standing in line ahead of me was ordering specialty coffee drinks. Low fat, no fat, half fat, loco mocha decaf latte yoko ono, with whipped cream and cinnamon. They all sounded the same to me.

  When I got up to the counter, the harried girl actually smiled when I said, “Today’s special brew, medium to go, and leave some room for cream.” She handed me a cup. I paid her with a five and put the change in the tip jar.

  “Hope you survive the day,” I said.

  “I will,” she smiled. “Off at four, street dance tonight.”

  In the few minutes it had taken me to park and get a cup of coffee, it seemed like the number of people had doubled. Everyone was walking along, stopping in the shops, looking for the treasure they couldn’t live without. In Northern Wisconsin, I was sure, the folks couldn’t wait for the tourists to get here and couldn’t wait for them to leave. There were other businesses around the area, but a beautiful destination like this lives and dies with the tourist dollars.

  I came upon a group of seasoned citizens all wearing Lions Club shirts. Must have been about eight or ten of them. Each one had taken it upon themselves to give instructions to a younger guy who was trying to back a truck up with an attached boat and trailer to a designated spot next to the Lions’ booth. Signs on the boat indicated that it was to be raffled off as part of a charitable fundraiser. The driver had his hands full trying to avoid kids and parents weaving in and out around him, trying not to crash the boat into the club trailer, and trying to listen to each of his coaches. He took it all in with a smile and eventually got the boat into position. The old guys wiped their brows, breathed a sigh of relief, and, exhausted from their combined efforts, they agreed unanimously that they had earned a reward and headed off to the beer tent leaving the driver to unhook and put up all the signage by himself as well as set up the table to buy the tickets.

  I stepped up. “Hey, can you use a hand?” I asked.

  “Sure could. I need someone to raise this trailer jack while I put blocks under the tires and tongue. Got to get it real stable for all the people that’ll be crawling in and out for the next couple of days.”

  I cranked down the jack onto a board and raised the front end. He put two timber blocks underneath and angle cut blocks in front of and behind the tires. At his command, I cranked the jack back down, and the trailer came to rest solidly on the blocks instead of the jack.

  “That jack would have held up just fine,” he said, “but the city street guys hate it when the jack leaves a big old divot in their blacktop. Thanks, I appreciate your help. Name’s Luke,” he said, and he held out his hand. He was clean-cut, trim, and wearing a brand new Lions Club shirt, the next generation of community leaders.

  “John Cabrelli, Luke. Nice to meet you.”

  “You live around here?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. I didn’t, but I might now. It’s actually complicated.”

  Luke had no interest in my complications, and with another, “Thanks again,” he headed off to finish his work.

  I turned around to head out to Main Street again when I walked smack into a gray-haired grizzly-looking guy dressed like a biker, with a well-worn leather vest and chaps, an earring, and tattoos. He was one of those guys that you could tell had been there, done that, and had lived to tell about it. He looked me square in the eye and, although I thought I had the right of way, he didn’t yield or move to go by.

  In a gruff and demanding voice, he asked, “Did I hear you say your name is John Cabrelli?’’

  Immediately, “What now?” came to mind.

  “That’s me.”

  His grimace turned to a twinkle in his eyes, and a big smile cracked through his beard-encrusted face.

  “Well, son of a bitch, you must be Nick’s nephew from down in Madison. The one that used to be a cop. I knew you’d be coming. My name is Ron Carver. I was your uncle’s running buddy. We were best of friends. I’m happy to finally meet you,” he said, and he stuck out his hand, giving mine a strong grip and a hearty shake. “I’m glad you’re here. We got a lot of talking to do. You going to be around for a while?”

  Taken totally off guard, I said, “Uh, yeah, I am planning on staying for a while, until I get things figured out, anyway.”

  “Tell you what, Johnny. I got to get into my store over there. In the jewelry business. This is a big weekend for us, and the girls are swamped. So I gotta go help out. The festival is over Sunday afternoon, and while I am very anxious to talk to you, it’s gonna have to wait till Monday. Where you stayin’?”

  “At the Lodge Motel out on B. At least for now.”

  “Why aren’t you stayin’ at your uncle’s place?’’

  “Right now the place is occupied. Julie Carlson is living there.”

  “That cute little Julie Carlson is still stayin’ there? Man, then that’s where I’d be stayin’,” and he laughed with a cackle. He picked up a pen and pad from the Lion’s Club table and took down my phone number. “I’ll call you on Monday, then you can let me know what works.”

  We shook hands again, and he walked off and went inside the jewelry store.

  What a character. Just the kind of guy Uncle Nick would like.

  I continued my journey, sipping away at my lukewarm cup of coffee. There were vendors for everything, from funnel cakes to metal heron sculptures. All pretty much folks from around the general area selling their wares out of a tent instead of from a brick-and-mortar storefront. They greeted one another, praising the good weather and the big crowd. Everyone seemed to be in a festive mood.

  I walked and looked and visited briefly with folks. When I came to the end of the street, I saw shotgun Julie standing up on a step ladder hanging a banner from a white tent.

  The sign read “Northern Lakes Academy: Hands On, Feet Wet, Learning Through Doing.” I walked over and saw that the tent was abuzz of semi-organized chaos. While Julie was trying to hang the banner, she was also instructing a bunch of kids, her students I assumed, on laying out t-shirts, sweatshirts, brochures, and raffle tickets. It was a unique form of multitasking.

  I stood far enough away from the ladder so that if she decided to kick me, I would be safe.

  She looked down at me and then continued to hang the banner, asking one of her students for another bungee cord. With the cord in place and the task completed, she climbed down and directed two of her kids to fold the ladder up and put it away.

  She was dressed in jeans, a dark green Northern Lakes t-shirt, and a ball cap that read “Take a Kid Outdoors” with her ponytail pulled through the back. Ron was right, Julie was really cute.

  She said, “I see you made it in off the lake. Bud was just here and told me you got the boat going this morning. Did you have a nice ride? Perfect weather.”

  “It was better than a nice ride. God, I love those lakes,” I replied. My mind began to drift, to relive the wonders I had seen. I stopped myself. “Anyway, it’s just what I needed. I take it these are your students? What do you guys have going here?”

  “Running a school like mine requires that we do public education about the school as well as raise extra funds to support our efforts. Musky Fest is when we sell most of our t-shirts and sweatshirts. Every year the kids come up with new colors and some design modifications, but always the same logo. We buy the shirts all locally and have them printed. The company that does the work holds on to our bill, giving us a chance to sell enough to pay for it. First thing the kids have to do is sell enough to pay for their own tees and sweats. That’s their official school uniform.”

  “How many kids do you have?”

  “Twenty-five officially. But we also have a couple of drifters that come in and out. So sometimes more, never less.”

  “What are the grades?”

  “Middle school, seven to nine, but we’re trying to add a high school. We sure have the need for it, but not everybody in the community thinks it’s a good idea.”

  “So what’s the deal with your sc
hool that’s so different?”

  “You know, John, I’d love to sit and chat with you, but as you can see I’m little busy getting everybody here going in the right direction.”

  Just as she spoke, I heard calls for Ms. Carlson come from the two opposite corners of the tent.

  “I will be right there kids. Just hold on. How about I turn you over to two of the kids, and they can fill you in.”

  She looked around, and then called, “Danny and Anna, will you come over here, please?”

  Two kids trotted over, a tall girl with long blonde hair, streaked with purple and a big smile and a boy who couldn’t have weighed 60 pounds soaking wet with perfectly combed straight hair wearing a new school t-shirt that came to his knees. “Whazup, Ms. Carlson?” asked Danny.

  “Danny and Anna, this is Mr. Cabrelli. He is interested in knowing about our school. I thought it would be good practice for you to give him your presentation before we officially open the booth.”

  “Sure,” bubbled Anna with a little giggle. And she and Danny took me over to a display board that was covered with pictures of the kids and their school.

  Anna started by saying, “Northern Lakes Academy is a project-based school where all learning is tied back to our natural resources.”

  Then Danny added, “It is a public school that anyone can come to. You don’t have to pay extra, and you get to do a lot of different things than if you were in regular school. It’s not like a school for dummies, it’s just …” he started to get a little flustered.

  “What Danny means is that some kids don’t do well in regular school. It doesn’t mean they aren’t smart. It just means that they learn better other ways than sitting at a desk. Some kids that come are just looking for a challenge,” Anna explained.

  I remembered my talk with Bud, a guy that was smart in a way that would be difficult to find its way to a school desk.

  “Before I came here, I hated school,” Danny said. “I never even showed up most of the time. But I sure like it here. I get pretty good grades too. You can just ask Ms. Carlson. Are you her boyfriend?”

  Anna looked mortified, “Oh my God, Danny, shut up! That is so inappropriate.”

  Quickly she got them back on track, and the presentation continued, flawlessly, although Anna stayed within arm’s reach of Danny, I am sure just in case corrective measures were required.

  They described the activities and projects they undertook during the course of the year, and it was fascinating. Reading, writing, and arithmetic all tied back to the outdoors. At least one field day a week, regardless of weather, was spent outside working on a community or restoration project.

  “This is Northern Wisconsin. I know the weather can get a little tough sometimes. Do you still go out then?” I asked.

  Danny piped up, “There is no bad weather, just bad clothes. I mean like when it’s cold out, you got to wear clothes that will keep you warm. Or if it’s raining, you gotta have a rain suit. You know, you gotta dress right. Otherwise, you will be miserable, and Ms. Carlson doesn’t care. She just says, ‘Next time maybe you will dress for a field day.’ I mean, I don’t think she’d let you die or anything. One day I didn’t dress warm enough, and we were out clearing a snowshoe trail, and it started to snow like crazy. I got so cold I about froze my ass off.”

  “Danny!’’ Anna shouted.

  One should not encourage bad behavior in children, and the belly laugh that I let loose could be construed as condoning Danny’s choice of words, but there just was no stopping it.

  With that, Anna made it clear the presentation had come to the end. “Well, thank you for asking about our school. We hope that you will come and visit. Here are a brochure and a schedule of events. The public is always welcome. If you want, you can also buy a t-shirt or sweatshirt over at the other table. The t-shirts are $15, and the sweatshirts are $30. Thank you again.”

  She smiled, grabbed Danny by the arm, and pulled him away where I am sure she burned his ears.

  The dozen or so kids working the booth were each engaged in their own tasks. Some unpacked sweatshirts and t-shirts, while others arranged school brochures. Julie was like an orchestra conductor, turning here, looking there, directing one student and turning 180 degrees to direct another in the same breath, keeping the kids on task.

  The part of the student body I was observing would be tough to categorize. Along with Danny and Anna, another boy was at least six feet, wearing a flannel shirt with cutoff sleeves, a mop of hair that looked like it was cut after somebody put a bowl on his head. One girl had pink hair and a huge nose ring. The friend she was talking to stacking up brochures had jet black hair, jet black eye makeup and lipstick, and was wearing black clothes. One boy looked Native American. Another boy and girl looked Asian. This group was as diverse as it could be. In my old beat, this could have been the beginning of street fights, broken windows, and burning cars. Here they were just working together, having fun, being kids.

  I stepped up to the other side of the table by the sweatshirts. “Anna told me the sweatshirts are $30 and the t-shirts are $15. Is that right?’

  “Yup, that’s right,” said a boy with a mohawk and pants hanging down.

  “I’ll take one of each, extra large.”

  I handed him the cash, and he gave me the shirts. Electric blue tie dye, my favorite.

  “These are some good looking shirts,” I said to my salesman. ”Where did you get them?”

  “Just down the street at Mystery Bay Graphics.’’

  “Where exactly is that?”

  “Just walk down this street here about two blocks. Then turn at the Quick Mart and go another two blocks. It’s right at the end of the street. It’s got a real big sign.”

  “Thanks, buddy,” I said as I started to walk away.

  “Thank you, and my name is Anthony.”

  “See you around, Anthony. I’m John.”

  I walked down to Mystery Bay Graphics. It was only about twice as far as Anthony had told me, but it was a nice walk. I went inside and saw that the counter was manned by an older guy wearing wire-rimmed glasses trimming up some kind of design on paper.

  “Can I help you?” he asked.

  “Did you folks do the clothing for Northern Lakes School?”

  “Sure did. Do it every year. By the looks of what is under your arm, I see they must have corralled you. Man, that blue tie dye is bright.”

  “How much do they owe you?”

  “Nothing right now. They pay it off as they sell sweatshirts. We have a deal worked out. My wife and I like those kids and their teacher. We don’t mind helping out.”

  “They do have a bill that needs to be paid eventually, right?”

  “Oh yeah, sure, right. We wouldn’t be able to stay in business very long any other way.”

  “I want to make you a deal. I want to pay the whole bill, but I don’t want them to know it was me that did it. You think we could work that out?”

  He smiled. “I am sure we could, and now would be a good time to pay it because my wife is out running errands and, well, she can be kinda a talker.”

  “Then let’s get to it, my friend, before she returns.”

  “Let me bring this up. Okay, well, they ordered 75 sweatshirts and 100 t-shirts … let’s see, they are tax exempt, so you don’t have to pay the governor, and we give them the biggest discount we can. The total comes out to be $2,100.”

  You may at this point question why I would just plunk down a couple grand for some kids I had just met. I can’t explain it. It is just me.

  “Do you take Mastercard?”

  “Sure, of course we do, and I would be glad to take yours, but my wife does the books, and when she sees your name on the credit card, I am afraid your secret will be out. She is faster than the Internet at spreading the word.”

  “I’ll be back.”

  I headed over to the bank. After five minutes with the teller and a quick swipe of my bank card, I had an envelope full of cash and hiked back toward
Mystery Bay. My route back took me past the Northern Lakes booth, and when I neared it, I saw none other than Officer Lawler, leaning up against a tent post, in full uniform, looking cool, looking dangerous, talking to Julie. As I got closer, I could see that she was trying to have none of it, and this was not lost on her kids. I decided to see what was going on.

  Just as I got to them, the big kid in the flannel shirt stepped up beside Julie and said to Lawler, “Leave her alone, you creep. Can’t you see she doesn’t want to talk to you? Leave her alone.”

  “Nathan, please be quiet. I can handle this,” Julie implored.

  Lawler was feeling like a bad boy, feeling tough, and he gave Nathan his most withering stare and, quick as a cat, reached out and grabbed him by the front of his shirt and pulled him face to face.

  “You got something to say to me, you little shit? How about you and I head down to juvie and we take the long way? You’ve been there before. Matter of fact, that’s where I heard your old man got his start. Might as well get ready to follow the family tradition.”

  I saw it coming. Youthful indiscretion responding to hurt and anger. Nathan balled up his fist and prepared to swing hard at Lawler’s head. I stepped into it, got between them and took the shot on my jaw meant for Lawler.

  Lawler, Nathan, and I were face to face to face. I worked my way completely between them.

  “Come on, Nathan. Lawler back it up. This is no good here.”

  The look on Lawler’s face said it all: he wanted to show me just how dangerous he was right then and there. Good news for me, bad news for him, the commotion had begun to attract a crowd, and there were plenty of witnesses. Lawler took it all in, stepped back a little, and gave the kid a shove.