Stealing Candy
This is the way that we use to do it. We would walk into Meyer's Deli. I use to like that place. There is a laundromat there now. They sold all kinds of stuff. As you walked in, the butcher's case was on the left. They had all kinds of meats, cold cuts and cheeses. On the right was the bread and pastries. My mom use to send me there to buy the Russian Rye bread. It was dark from the molasses. It had lots of caraway seeds in it. The loaves were small and dense. Me, I liked the Bohemian light rye the best. The butcher could make you a nice sandwich right there. Pastrami, bologna, Swiss cheese, mayo. Whatever you wanted. Then he would wrap it up in white paper and write the price on it. Then you would pay for it. Maybe get a 7 ounce Coke with it. They sold lots of other stuff. Fried grasshoppers and chocolate covered ants. Good stuff to buy and dare the other guys to eat.
Now they had 2 aisles down the middle of the place. We would walk in and act normal. I am not going to tell you who exactly was with me. Some of them are dead. Some of them have grown up. Some of them are no longer into petty theft. They have graduated you might say. One of the guys would go over and ask the butcher how much something was. Another guy would go over and look at the comic books. Me and "Tommy" would walk down the center of the store. Right to the candy. I would turn around and look at the potato chips. Then I would push "Tommy" into the candy with my butt and he would say "watch it" as he stuffed his pockets. I would go over to the freezer where the fudge bars were. We would all walk out one at a time. We never got caught. "Tommy" was always the guy who would actually take the candy.
We would walk around the back and over to the retaining wall by the First Methodist Church. We would split the loot.
I would like to digress a moment and analyze the economic rationale for my participation in this crime. See, I was getting an allowance of twenty five cents a week. That was in 1958. Or maybe 1959. I could buy fudge bars for five cents each. Candy bars were the same. Comic books were a dime. Well the price of fudge bars went up to seven cents each. My mom would not raise my allowance. So that is why I did it. I liked the people at the store. I knew it was wrong. But I needed candy. That is all that I can offer in my defense. Please forgive me.
Radio Preachers
Sitting in the yellow breakfast nook. Every Sunday morning. Reading Dick Tracy. Reading Little Orphan Annie. Waiting for the French Toast. Smelling the frying bacon. My mom would be cooking breakfast. The radio would be on. The radio was an old radio. One with tubes that glowed. This was in the mid-1950s. Ike was President of the USA. Flying saucers were everywhere. Commies were everywhere.
One Sunday morning. Everything was the same. I was reading. My mom was cooking.
The flying saucers were resting in the cosmic cupboard. The commies were sleeping in. The radio was on. We were listening to a radio preacher. He had a deep voice. A Russian accent. Or maybe it was German. He was talking about the Holy Land. Send ten dollars in. Get a prayer shawl.
Then he said. Then he commanded. "Put your hands on the radio and feel the power of the Lord!" My mom walked over from the sink. Her hands were wet. She was heading for the radio. I yelled. "Don't do it mom!"
"That ain't the Lord" " It's electricity" " You're gonna die". She stopped. Turned around. Wiped her wet hands on her apron. And then she said "Freddy, you are so smart". Later that day we went to church.
Then we took the bus to Morningside. We ate fried chicken and strawberry shortcake at Aunt Clara's house.
How We Use to Watch TV
Back then we did not have a TV. We were living on Jackson Street. The Swanson Apartments. Apartment 303. This was in 1953 . I was 5 years old. I wanted a TV. My mom wanted a TV. It took a lot of money to get a TV. I only knew one family with a TV.
But it was summer. And it was hot. I would ask my mom if I could go get an ice cream cone. She would give me some spare change. I would walk the 3 blocks to Birdsall's. It was over on Pierce Street. Near the corner of 16th. I would get 2 scoops of ice cream in a cone. Maybe chocolate and chocolate chip. Mr. Birdsall always said that I should get the lime sherbet. He said get it in a dish with chocolate sauce on top. I did it once. It was good. Birdsall's had a lot of pinball machines. I was not allowed to play them. My mom said that they would lead me to a life of gambling. Lead me to a life of sin. She was a Methodist you know. Got saved at an outdoor rally in the 20s. But, I watched the older guys playing them. These guys were having fun. And they seemed like important guys to me.
Well anyway, after I got my cone, I walked outside. Into the hot summer night. The bugs were always out. Millions of them. I would walk over to William's Appliances. They were next door. They sold TVs. They would put several TVs in the window. And they had some speakers outside too. I could watch TV and listen, too. People would be standing outside watching TV. Watching the news. Watching a movie. Watching a clown. Maybe a test pattern. One night I watched a test pattern for a long time. Just standing there. Licking my ice cream cone. Waiting for Fred C. Dobbs to come back on. Wondering what was going to happen to the Treasure of the Sierra Madre.
I finally went home. When I got back to apartment 303 my mom was waiting for me. She said that I had been gone an hour. She was worried that I had been kidnapped. Or that I was playing the pinball machine. She grounded me for a week. Later that summer she bought a TV. Sylvania I think. Got it at William's. $5 a week. We were now part of the TV elite. Later my mom would buy 2 metal TV trays. We could eat our TV dinners while watching TV.
Guess Who I Saw
Hey yesterday I was going for some espresso. Just like always. Going for some espresso. Drove by the old place. You know at 17th and Jackson. Guess who I saw? It was Ronnie Bones. That Ronnie Bones. Couch surfer. Always getting thrown out. Out of his mom's place. Out of his sister's place. Out of the halfway house.
Out of the shelter. Always drinking. Always fighting. Always stealing. I saw him yesterday. On that corner.
Corner of 17th and Jackson. Right there on the curb. Feet on the street. But laying on his back. Mouth wide open.
He had two plastic shopping bags. He had a suit case. A little brown one. Like some little kid might have. All his stuff. Probably got kicked out again. Sleeping it off. Waiting for a ride. Right there on the curb. Feet on the street. But laying on his back. Mouth wide open.
Drove by him. Corner of 17th and Jackson I heard a siren. Saw an ambulance in my rearview. I felt cold. I crossed myself. Father, Son and Holy Ghost.
Long Bus
Always waiting for the long bus I am. Always getting on the long bus I am. Always riding the long bus I am.
Always getting off of the long bus I am.
City bus it is. Crosstown bus it is. Intercity bus it is. Nowhere bus it is. Silver bus color. Gray bus color. No bus color.
By myself. With my mother. By myself. With someone else. By myself. With nobody. By myself.
Sitting behind the driver. Sitting by the fat lady. Sitting by the drunk. Sitting in back. Sitting nowhere. Sitting alone. Not sitting. Standing up. Watching the others. Not watching. Talking to them. Not talking.
Windows. Not windows. On the bus. Not on.
Always waiting for the long bus I am. Always getting on the long bus I am. Always riding the long bus I am. Always getting off of the long bus I am.
Long gone Gardens
People always talking. Talking about their gardens. I got no garden. Use to have one. No I had two. Vegetables in the back yard. Flowers and herbs in the front yard. That was years ago. I had a house.
Now I live in an apartment. No space for a garden. No time for a garden.
Long gone gardens. I still visit in my dreams. The rosemary remembers me. Prairie coneflowers. Walkways of old paving brick.
My kids still young. Them asking why we are here. Cosmic question prompted by a pea pod. Me saying that we are here to grow. Always here gardens.
People always talking. Talking about their gardens.
Dark Road On A Dark Night
The road heads north from S
tone State Park between the Big Sioux River and the Loess Hills. For some reason some of the guys and I had decided to go swimming at the sand pits. The sand pits had one of those "No Trespassing” signs. It was after midnight. I guess we figured that we would not get caught. I really don't recall. So we were all in Jones' old Renault. There were four of us and a case of Old Milwaukee. We were all in a good mood. We were listening to Bleeker Street on the AM radio. 60s rock music at its best. Hendrix, Country Joe and the Fish and The Velvet Underground. It was a dark night on a dark road. No moon. No lights. Just the headlights of the old Renault. Up ahead we could see a car parked on the side of the road. No lights. Jones slowed down a little as we passed. One of the guys said that he saw someone in the car. Jones turned the car around and drove past the parked car from the other direction. He stopped again and turned north again. He stopped the car a little behind the car on the side of the road. It was an old car. Nothing special. This other guy and I got out of the Renault and walked towards the other car. The driver of that car was slumped over the wheel. Probably just a drunk passed out and sleeping it off. But maybe he needed help. I knocked on the driver's side window. No response. I knocked again. No response. I knocked again and yelled "Hey Buddy!" Slowly, very slowly, the driver raised his head but his head was turned toward the front window of his car. Then he jerked his head to the left and stared at us. He was smiling. It was not a happy smile. His eyes were glaring at us. His expression was one of “I have been waiting for you and now you will pay". I was scared shitless. So was my friend. I have never seen a face so evil in my life. We ran back to the car. We told Jones to get the hell out of there. The other guys saw him as we drove away. He did not follow us. He did not have to. He had crawled up inside of our brains. He is still there when I remember that night. Dark road on a dark night.
Those People Are Dead Now
You walk the neighborhood. You look at houses. You look at street corners. You look down alleys. You look behind stores. There are some people that you will not see. Those people are dead now.
Sammy use to live in that house over there. They had a real small swimming pool. Heart attack.
The Rabbi and his wife lived in that corner house. The neat little white one. They always took long walks. She was run over and was DOA. He remarried and later died.
Greg lived in that yellow house. The one that needs a new roof. Came home from Vietnam in a coffin.
In the alley behind that restaurant, some drug dealer from New Orleans was killed by a local competitor.
Three blocks east there is a tall skinny house. Two guys were shot dead. AK-47 and a Glock 9. Somebody owed somebody. The debt was paid.
Louie lived in a house where that park is now. He was a bully when he was young. But he turned out OK. Died of a heart attack down in Texas.
Up that street is a Baptist church. Use to be a synagogue. Last winter a school bus stopped. Let the kids out. One kid slid on some ice. Fell under the bus. He was crushed. The driver did not see him. My wife heard the death cry.
Thomas was the youngest of five. He was waiting to get on disability. Died at home in his bed. Got approved for disability the next week.
Ripp was driving too fast. His car flipped over.
Same with Mike.
Ron had polio when he was a kid. Was in an iron lung for a while. Heart attack got him.
Rick went to a party when he was 16. Never came home. Died at 44. Paper said heart attack in Denver. We all know he OD'd. Loved that needle.
Lee. Dana. Aids got them.
I know I am forgetting someone. I am sorry. But that is not my job. I am not an obit writer. You will have to fill in the details yourself.
Look, I'm not obsessed with the dead. I just wanted you to know about those that you cannot see. And what happened to them. You are reading this. You are not one of them. Go do the stuff that the dead can't. That is your job. Pray for the dead. But do your job.
Those people are dead now. You won't see them in the neighborhood. Not in the houses. Not on the street corners. Not down the alleys. Not behind the stores. Those people are dead now.
Flash of Light
The flash of light came.
It seems to always come.
From inside of me.
From outside of me.
But it always comes.
Place of Sense
When you live in a place long enough you learn the smells. The smoke from its factories. The ammonia from the fertilizer plant. The slaughter house blood and bone. Garlic frying in the woks.
You get used to the sounds. The honking of horns and squealing of tires. The sirens of cops and the silence of robbers. The helicopters flying overhead. The family crying at the young girl's funeral. The wild laughter from the neighbor's apartment. The Corpus Christi procession in the street. Hip hop music from the cars.
You recognize others on the street in this place where you live, where you've learned the smells and the sounds.
You walk by people sometimes. Sometimes they walk by you. Some of them are bright-eyed, alert to the world. Some of them carry their fists clenched, their jaws set. You notice that some of them keep their eyes downcast, averted. Some never talk. But the eyes are always saying something. Something about love and hate, about life and death, here where three rivers meet, The Floyd, the Big Sioux and the Missouri. Some of the eyes know you. They remember you and you remember them.
The dead girl had been murdered by her ex-boyfriend. She was an only child. I know the family. The funeral was on a Friday during Lent. A cold rainy day. The interment was on a windy hill. The notes of the mariachi band were lost in the wind. The violins got wet. The ladies at the parish hall forgot it was Friday and served
Ham salad sandwiches. I guess that funeral was everyfuneral for everygirl everywhere.
Sometimes people just walk by. You nod your head. And they nod theirs. They are like the others. They are not like the others. It is always hard to tell.
Let me make this clear. It has something to do with the sense of place. The place of sense. And the spirit in you.
And the spirits beyond you. You become part of a place and the place becomes part of you. And that is what I needed to say.
Four Questions
1. Who were those ravens that sat in a circle?
I recall that fat October moon shining on them.
And those black birds were right over there.
It used to be a vacant lot.
They were behind a chain link fence.
There is a bank there now.
2. Why don't the animals stay in the sewers?
Two dead possums were right by the curb.
Probably hit by a car.
They had nice fur and smooth tails.
Two women thought that they were big rats.
Animal control later came and took the possums away.
3. Why does death linger so close?
Right there when the boy fell under the school bus.
A California rocks on the highway crash.
A Santa Muerte statue on the doorstep.
And some small sign of stigmata.
Not the palms, just the feet.
4. How long do you cook lentils?
Thirty minutes for a salad.
Forty-five minutes for soup.
Some people like a bay leaf.
Always add the garlic.
Always add the salt.
Checking Up On Me
There you were again. I know it was you. I could tell by those eyes. I could tell by those eyes.
I was leaving my place. I talked to that Marxista. I told her you were more than a white cat. I know it was you. More than a white cat. Checking up on me. Checking up on me.
Factory Town Page 5
