Chapter 4. In the chill of the night (given first line)
“Did you hear anything Sunday night?” Denny the caretaker asked me. He stopped shoveling the last of the snow off the steps of the apartment building to make his point as I walked out to start my car Tuesday morning, heading off to Pearson to score NCLB
“Somebody broke into the laundry room and busted into the washers and dryers; really messed the place up…”.’
“Oh no I heard ‘em” banging around down there; wasn’t sure what it was. It was over in five minutes for all I could tell” I didn’t want to get involved I knew that falling back to sleep.
“They broke into 990 about 1:30 in the morning. What time did you hear ‘em?”
“It was late, they woke me up. I wasn’t sure what was going on”. Now I remember my thoughts at that moment in the night ( the sense of security breached) -not that again…I would bet some fools are stealing the quarters out of the dryers; there isn’t even ten bucks in there; they must be desperate for drugs; nothing else is that cheap.
“How much did they take out the machines?”
“Oh usually there’s about 30 dollars give or take in each one. But they did two hundred bucks worth of damage for sure. I worked on it all day; the dryer still isn’t working right; had to buy some new parts at Menards”. I thought: damn I’m glad I didn’t try to be a hero and put my neck on the block to stop those punks. I thought I knew who did it. Gang bangers from the projects next door.
“I thought of calling you but I don’t have your cell” I recalled thinking it wouldn’t do any good to call the maintenance line at that time of the night anyway. Break ins happened all the time when I lived in the hood. A convenience store clerk was murdered for the cash in the till at 36th and Minnehaha a few block from my studio; just to buy a few rocks from the crack house row. I thought this was supposed to be a good neighborhood with a lot of kids and families living by Moore Lake.
“If you ever hear that happening again just call 911”
“I sure will man”
Chapter 6. Person Place and Song
Person Place and Song
The first time I ever heard one of my songs on the radio I was giving my girl friend Chera a ride home after work. A few days before she had dressed up like a groupie (she knew that part well) and hand delivered four cassettes of the song we had been working on for a month in my studio on 41st; perfecting, polishing it for the Crash Gearbox show on KFAI 101.3 FM. It wasn’t totally unexpected but I was a bit shocked as our song ‘Spiral Staircase’ started crackling out of the speakers of my Buick Skylark.
Chera was astonished; "Turn it up" she demanded, reaching for the volume knob: I’ve gotta hear it!; she was more surprised than I was; usually she hated loud music; and, going to bars where bands were playing. She was an artist, an actress doing her thing: she reviled the rock bars, the egos of musicians, the groupie reality scene that is a fantasy in itself. Chera loved 'Aerosmith': Stevie Tyler in his tranny act; Rolling Stones at the Excel center, the major acts. When the song was over the disk jockey commented on air: “I like your song; but could you please send in a better quality tape next time?” to 15,000 listeners wondering who that band ‘Rollover’ was; Did they play at Fernandos on Lake? It didn't sound like …Prince, Johnny Lang , Bob Stinson’s ghost…? Nope it was just us: the 4209 lonely hearts club band.
Our group broke up soon after that flash in the pan; as Chera and I did in the following months as the Donaldson Warehouse slowly went out of business. She moved back to Lakeland, and, became a sign language practitioner for the State: she e-mailed me just last spring affirming I was the only boy friend she ever had that actually had a song played on the radio; and, that I would always be a rock star in her mind.
Chapter 10. That sort of person
Dave Z___ (my client)
Dave Z___ is the type of guy who will tell you the details of what he’s up to with his girlfriend, but doesn’t want you hanging around his sister who 'likes me'
Dave Z___ is the type of guy who plea bargains to six false charges; claiming he thought he could do more on the outside than he could spending 30 years in prison on false charges.
Dave Z___ is the sort of person who looks forward to going to the dentist
DaveZ____ was the type of guy who headed out parking with his high school girlfriend after Bible study
Dave Z ___is the sort of person who can generalize for an hour on the phone; but avoids talking about the serious legal issues we face in his Federal appeal whenever he can change the subject
Dave Z___ is the sort of person who believes that legal writing is one of his skills
Dave Z ____ is the sort of person who probably couldn’t pass (today’s) GED; but believes he has a great legal mind
Dave Z___ is the sort of person who believes that being an idiot savant gives him license to lecture on the supernatural.
Dave Z___ is the sort of person who claims he is a ‘mystic’; which always makes him the smartest person in the room
Dave Z___ is the sort of person who believes that fate has cheated him of his destiny
** Dave Z is the main character of my 20 page short story.
Chapter 18 Switching gender
The Operation: (a clash of genders)
“It’s not my fault that I weigh this much” said Jackie P___ as an introduction to the staff in the imaging department at Mid-America. “My dad always made me eat every single morsel on my plate when I was growing up in Stillwater. It was his fault. I’m planning on having an intestinal by pass operation if this damn company ever hires me full time like they said they would when I interviewed with Jim R___” She was very self conscious of her weight; and evidently always had been
“How much does something like that cost” I asked her as she brought up the subject a few days later. I knew the company had poor insurance in first place. I wasn’t aware they covered that type of operation
“It’s around $4500” she said. That’s gotta be major surgery with a body like that I thought. My Uncle Del died after they stapled his stomach shut by mistake in a Denver hospital; I was thinking at least $50K but didn’t say anymore about it.
“What were you doing at Alpine Temp agency?” I asked one time.
“ They were horrible; just using me. I didn’t fit in anywhere; working wherever they sent me, sorting, filing, answering phones; selling dried flowers…all temporary jobs before I came to Mid America; they said they were going to hire me full time. I was living in Stillwater and commuted to the city. Then we had an apartment on Stinson”
Another day she told us that she got kicked of her apartment because he daughter wrote “I hate you” in colored chalk on the sidewalk: and the owner thought he she was referring to him whichshe was. “I hated him too: Jackie said: he kept raising the rent; never fixed the plumbing. I complained all the time he did nothing…”. She was angry, irascible all the time, but she got along alright with the women alright. It consumed her that Mid – America wouldn’t make her a permanent employee. Her daughter had benefits from the county; she had some but not insurance through the county, to cover the operation she wanted desperately. I became the permanent employees she began to resent more as the decision to hire her full time wasn’t arriving on schedule; asking me about my salary and benefits which I wasn’t supposed to discuss with other employees. I was trying to be cordial, polite…we didn’t need a hostile workplace: like I had experienced at Diversified Technology five years previously. There was plenty of work; I was busy , wore earplugs, as employees were encouraged not to participate in idle chatter, conversation: keep your nose to the grindstone they said subtly.. Once I asked her if she wanted to talk about her problems on the phone after work.
“I don’t have a telephone!” she snapped brushing past me. Okay Okay I thought. No more Mr. Nice Guy; this girl was a volcano waiting to erupt.
Things never improved; one night I dreamed I visited Jackie’s apartment that was like a lab… like at work, and noticed there were two huge lamprey eels attached to her body: sucking the life out of her. Soon I was back at the company headquarter imaging hospital records from Lakeland Hospital in Stillwater after finishing up an outsourcing job in St Paul. I was sharing a scanning job with her as the only man in the department at the moment; along with the young girls; she loved the trivia games and dialogue on the morning show; she in particular was annoyed that I wore earplugs and wouldn’t carry on with the chatter about the FM 103 morning show . Coming back from morning break one day I was joking about my ex-girlfriend who was a sign language expert with the State; as she filled me in on her boyfriend Jose; and her daughters discipline problems in school. When out of nowhere she launched a another barrage;
“You hate women, - you just like to have sex with them” she blurted out, raging mad in an instant; her face reddening
“What brought that on?” I riposted instantly with emphasis, controlling my voice
“You think you’re better than everybody …we don’t need you around here. This is my job now”.
She screamed as she jumped up from her chair at the i830 Kodak scanner; and charged into the human resources manager to tell him I was harassing her. Jim R___ knew it wasn’t true and sent her into the break room to calm down. The situation never improved.
I was outsourced to Dakota County shortly after the incident: After 9 months Jackie was hired full time and had her operation. By the next time I saw her Jackie had lost noticeable weight but was still weighing in at about 200 lbs at least I guessed: informing me she had already lost a hundred pounds; looking about half her former size and was sporting a new tatoo on her back . she was a randy girl after all and it was coming out: Another day the department was ordering take out from McDonalds. Jackie ordered a lala palooza chocolate sundae with the works, along with a Big Mac and super sized fries.
“I can eat anything because my stomach is a lot smaller now” she crowed. “ I won’t ever gain weight anymore even when I eat rich food” I heard it; she was entitled to celebrate her victory over obesity; if it made her feel any better I thought to myself. Trying to avoid any more conflict
There was no turning back the clock; now a full time employee Jackie still despised me and was openly flirting with Keith Bailey the athletic sales manager who always wore a natty sport coat and drove a black Explorer; he sold the scanning jobs for Mid-America systems. One day Jackie was called to the office and had to go to the hospital immediately: we learned her boyfriend Jose had his leg amputated at the hip by a train in the freight yard of lumber company he worked for. He died in the emergency room of Hennepin County General from loss of blood. She took a day or two off to make arrangements: Jose was the father of her daughter. His family lived in San Antonio. I was doing most of the scanning while she was out. When she came back I could tell she’d been crying a lot. .
“I was so sorry to hear about Jose’s accident” I said and meant it. Trying to be civil, kind -what ever it took to cheer the grieving woman. I had signed a card for her and contributed five bucks… thought maybe the war was over. The funeral could be a time of truce …it was a mistake.
For a second I thought she was going to slug me; I saw that look of rage in her eyes as here mood shifted immediately to our ‘conflict”; she said nothing in reply, glaring at me as though her loss was not going to be my gain. Later that day I had a feeling she would report my hostile attitude toward women again to the HR manager Jim R__ whose son Brian just graduated from high school; and, was training in the scanning department on the new high volume i830 Kodak scanner Mid-America rented. The boy was very quiet . But I could tell omething was up. For some reason HR liked Jackie or was afraid of her; I just didn’t realize how valuable she had become to the business after her operation.
I was outsourced again for a couple weeks on a rework imaging job with the City of St Paul; when it was completed, I was informed by a phone call from HR that I was laid off the week of Thanksgiving after five at will years with Mid America. I used that opportunity to go back to school and pick up my license in adult education.
** Note: I thought of trying to write more of Jackie’s p.o.v but I think we get the drift herein: there is some hint of a female p.o.v in the rock star story: but it would be like me trying to imitate Nathaniel West writing ‘Ms Lonely Hearts’ and would sound kind of whacky. At least these anecdotes express some of the passion that may have been lacking on both sides. I am a male chauvinist pig in a reactionary environment and I realize it; any gender bias, or p.o.v comments would be appreciated. This is another of my 'reality is more compelling than fiction' ideas
Chapter 19 3rd person
(I wrote this sports piece first in first person' it might be better in 3rd but not as polished)
It was the last year of Tony’s football career. He was finally seeing a lot of action under a new coach of the football team. He was starting, finally getting the opportunity he needed, after riding the bench two years for two losing seasons under Ted M__ . The new head coach of football and wrestling John “Bo” Henry, a muscular star wrestler for Moorhead State was just starting his career. He had a stunning wife who looked better than the cheerleaders, and a young son; they lived on the lake in a small apartment. Bo was a stud: army veteran, small college player of the year: built like a brick shithouse, also coach of the wrestling team. The team loved and admired him from the first day of football practice on a humid 88 degree day in September.
The Trojans hadn’t had a winning season in our town football in 13 years; it was a little known and hidden fact, only exposed from reading old school annuals gathering moss in a corner of the library. Nobody discussed it. With a few friends he had left on the team, guys Tony had been playing the major sports with since 4th grade: the few of the best athletes in class; with a few juniors and sophomores sprinkled in; with his buddies Tony made a secret pact determined to turn the trend around. The problem never articulated in the provincial, parochial culture of the tiny Hamlet ; that percolated through the society of three year lettermen across all sports: was that the coaches had no idea how to win; or any conception of how the game was played on the field; and, were always being directed by the ‘down town quarterbacks’: who determined who of the local sons played; and what teams they played on; how much they played and who didn’t play and so on. They had no problem with losing as long as their sons and favorite town boys were playing all the time; and got the ‘glory’, the MVP awards and letters when in fact there was very little to crow about except in baseball where the Trojans were perennial conference champs or at least in the running. They were decent in basketball but rarely made it out the district.
The season was on the line as the rebuilt team approached the Dawson game; at a critical stage: 2-3 with four games to go before the district seeding. The local boys had to win at least three out the next four games to have the first winning season in fourteen years. After a thirteen year losing streak; they knew the league, the players, the coaches the whole casserole. And that they could win; if the same thing didn’t happen again. To make the situation more critical the word was passed around that former coach Ted M__ would be returning to town to observe the Friday night game. To see how his boys were doing. Nobody liked him except his lackeys from the year before who were all riding the bench.
As the starting line up was announced by his junior high coach Don Holm sitting in the announcer's booth to the large crowd that included Tony's parents, brothers and sister, “Starting at right end …. …”
Pete K__’s dad yelled, standing up waving his arm and clenching his fist for an audience in the bleachers “Get him out of there: he’s no good, …get Pete in there; and so on”
In the first quarter the Black Jacks tested the defense early on the notoriously weak side of the line; the coaches in Little Sioux knew the weaknesses well after years of domination of the Trojans. Tony split out wider than usual to help cover their all conference receiver 6’ 3” Dave Fields son of the County Sheriff. They knew each other from basketball and summer dances. That strategy exposed a hole in the four 3 defense. They were moving down the field taking chunks of yardage; using their big slow fullback Steenson with the slightly faster quarterback (Mogard) and halfback blocking in a wedge. It looked like they were running right through Toney like water through a sieve in the first quarter. With the Black Jacks driving for a touchdown on the 40, halfway through the quarter Coach Bo pulled Tony; and replaced him with Pete K___. Coach was in his grill immediately on the sidelines
“What’s going on out there?” he hollered in the ear hole of his helmet.
“I’ve gotta move out wide and drop back to help cover Fields in the open zone” , Tony yelled. “They’re running a power slant through that hole all the time. We gotta move
Raleigh (the outside linebacker) farther outside to cover the gap… ”
Tony was thinking if we can force Steenson to run to the sidelines; (he could sandwich him with a line backer before he turned the corner : he was that slow) With his blockers in front of him though the chunky fullback was murder running straight ahead. It took two defensive backs to bring him down if he got through the line which he seldom did. Coach called a timeout; the team talked it over on the sideline; moved Raleigh to farther outside linebacker and that solved the problem. After that adjustment the Trojans stopped the Dawson running attack cold most of the game .
In the third quarter left end Wentworth caught a 40 yard post from their sophomore quarterback Beyer and ran it in. Trojans were leading 13-7 going into the fourth quarter. With 3:25 remaining in the fourth the Black Jacks were driving, putting together a strong drive that resembled their first quarter successes: running the left side. Galen Steenson had run thirty plays piling up 60 yards rushing the middle of the line for no gains, and a few losses; he was gassed. But he was all they had. The game came down to fourth down and one at the Trojan 21 with 2:10 remaining. The Jack coach called a timeout. The defense went over to listen to Bo on the sidelines; urging the boys to hold out one more time. Thumping the guys on the back. ‘Keep a tight formation men,’ he shouted as they trudged back out on the field. On the way back to the last stand Tony noticed Ted M__ on the sideline; high cheekbones, a Baptist, he stood out tall at 6’ 5” gray trench coat and crew cut; ( punter at Augsburg) at about the 27 yard line. Alone: he had no friends in that hometown crowd, composed of all the people Tony, Raleigh, Wentworth…. grew up with.
Every body including the downtown quarterbacks lined up along the sidelines; some of them moved with the ball on every down. Tony just knew the Dawson gang were going to try to run their exhausted fullback around right end on the short side of the field, strategy being suck him inside or run over him with his size listed 185 on the program. Tony could see it unfolding in his mind; there were no options left for the Jacks: the Trojan pass defense was stacked with the Peterson brothers and Lindman at safety: even with an all conference end the Jacks hadn’t completed more than a few passes. The big fullback had played every down on offense and defense like Tony; going both ways at middle linebacker but Tony was fresh, waiting for the opportunity he knew was inevitable: rather than feebly running into the middle of the tought defensive line; with two minutes left in the 4th quarter he was dead in the water. Hut 2, 3: At the right hash mark Mogard faked a halfback draw to the right; he turned and pitched to Steenson moving in slow motion heading Tony’s direction out of the back field: he pounced out in front of him, pumped on adrenalin; guessing he would try to run over him: he planned to cut him off at the knees if he tried. But the big fullback didn’t even try a fake move; instead he looped out wide lumbering toward the short side of the field and the sidelines; trying to outrun Tony losing five yards on the first down he needed in ten side steps. Tony was a sprinter. Steenson put the shot –Tony leveraged the exhausted running back toward the end of his dead end run toward the sideline as he lunged, losing ground running parallel to the line of scrimmage; his heavy momentum eliminating any escape he had.. At the last instant– knowing he’d reached the end of the line at the 26; off balance, out of gas the fullback made a feeble attempt to cut back up field toward the 20 he needed to reach, to make up the loss, uuh uuh…to acknowledge his coach’s poor choice of a play(?), imagining only he could turn up field into Tony’s territory; before Tony chopped him down at the knees; he was rolling on the turf as Steenson rolled out of bounds at Ted M__’s feet. Raleigh pulled Tony to his feet. Slapping him on the back. From the crowd erupted a sound never heard before in the stadium. Former Trojans, now farmers, teachers, police roared: grown men stood with mist in their eyes that had waited a generation for a glimpse at a decent team: turned to each other high fiving everybody around them, cheering high school girls waved Trojan banners, women hugged. The pep band launched into ‘Down Main Street’ by John Phillip Sousa. It was pandemonium: like an NFL playoff game. The Trojans took over the ball at their own 27 and ran out the clock using their big fullback Bobby Ross who now delivers babies at the hospital. Dawson had no time outs left.
The Trojans shook hands with the Black Jacks after the great game it turned out to be. Ted M__ never showed up for the celebration in the locker room after the Dawson clash to congratulate his old team. They forgot he was there: he became a butch cut footnote in the annual. The Trojans won two more games in what became a four game winning streak; before ending the season of the Milbank Bulldogs in the final away game 28-14. It didn’t matter. The team finished the season 5-4 for the first winning record in 14 years. Bo Henry asked Tony if he wanted to try out for the wrestling team when the season was over; but, he declined the offer as one of the few returning lettermen for the basketball team.
Chapter 22 : the child as narrator
Dad’s Watch: ten year old p.o.v
It was the first week of June; the water was streaming clear and fast in the Minnesota river; huge black crappies had been biting like crazy below the dam for two weeks. I knew right where they were hitting the hardest, in the swirling water about two blocks south of the locks where the crooked creek, run off from the power plant water meets the rapids. In the little whirlpool the big blacks and silver bass gathered waiting for the minnows that spilled over the locks at the west side of the dam. I was not supposed to be fishing at the dam yet at 11 years old; I could fish the pier on the lake where small walleyes were biting but the fast water of the river was too dangerous according to my parents. Will my brother was only six and not even supposed to be close to the river when it was high and running fast. At least one kid had drowned there diving for tackle.
All you really needed was a cane pole; and a little technique. I brought Will along to show him the tricks of the trade hooking the big ones; he wanted to be there too for once if and when the fish were biting. Like he wanted to be with us hunting ducks, pheasants at my Uncle’s slough. I would show him how to rig up light blue monofilament, with an eight inch leader; it had to have a one half inch spinner; and at least 3 little red dots. Hook the minnow through the gills to keep it alive as long as possible; the catch depended on fashioning the exact crappie snell. I had learned the method from Dad when we used to fish Big Stone off Morley McPherson’s dock (a lefty first baseman, he used to pitch for the White Sox until he blew out his arm; he hunted with us). I had a Johnson Centennial mounted on a seven foot fiber glass rod; once that tackle rig was in the water; if you kept it moving into the current was deadly; sometimes a 2 pound silver bass would grab it and tear off against the drag like a small pike, sometimes snapping the line. It was great fun when they were running. I caught eight pound and a half diamond flanked blacks on a similar day lone day the year before
We were three miles from home. There was a problem with time; I had to be back in town delivering the StarTribune by at least 4:45. I usually fished early so there was no problem; in the afternoon when I was running a tight schedule I would ‘borrow’ Dad’s gold Bulova : not wear it, the band was too large I would just stuff it in my jeans, checking it from time to time.
The fishing was not remarkable; seldom had I seen the inch and a half red and white bobber descend six inches below the swirling surface as a crappie or two nibbled it. My brother had no luck with his cane pole. I remember checking the watch at 3:50; we started packing up our gear for the trek home. We had a few fish on our stringer. We grabbed our tackle box inherited from Grandpa Tom Sr.; and walked back down the dirt path to our bikes parked at the outlet; we pedaled three miles; and were home by…
To my absolute horror, when I reached in my pocket the watch was gone; what a sickening feeling: that watch had more history than me. Gramps had given it to Dad as he entered the Marines: it kept perfect time 30, 40, fifty years later. Dad would be crushed if something happened to that precious time piece. It might have killed him earlier than all the Lucky Strikes he smoked on Okinawa; he loved his parents that much. A dull gold color with matching band. He would wear it only on special occasions, church, holidays, playing cribbage with his Dad. His greatest treasure; a level above his Wilson Staff Arnold Palmer matched set. And I still have to deliver these damn papers. A horrible angst grabbed me like a vice settling in my abdomen. Nowhere to run to. In torment I raced around my route on my bike; trying to figure out what to do. I did a lot of praying to the Catholic trinity: there would be no problem with confession on this one. It was an accident.. none of the rationalizations worked: I felt a form of death at an young age; I couldn’t escape the horrible feeling of loss; it just got worse.
Dad wouldn’t notice the watch missing right away. It was always somewhere in his top dresser drawer I treated like mine. He might not even open it up…until Sunday. I could pretend I know nothing bury the memory. My brother knew I had the watch at the dam: that was a problem. He didn’t know I had lost it though. I couldn’t tell him what happened. It wouldn’t do any good to mention it: because the watch was hopelessly lost in the tall buffalo grass. Maybe it fell in the river. We would never find it in the thick weeds. I had this horrible dialogue going on in my mind even as we were sitting at the supper table about 6:40. Dad was quiet; it was another tough day at the office for him as usual; he was distracted with something about one of his customers as usual; not reading the tea leaves tonight; distracted thinking about something else. Suddenly I blurted out in front of the family:
“ I lost your watch at the dam this afternoon!”
He gave me a look that could kill; I was waiting for an explosion and knew it was inevitable: ‘__ "What were you doing with my watch" he shouted at the dinner table. Jumping up “I needed it to get back to my route on time…” (serve my customers you know) I thought he was going to smack me for sure. But no..He sprang into action; out of his chair and mobilizing forces in seconds. Within five minutes the four brothers were out of the kitchen; Dad and I sat silent for ten minutes in the front seat, my three brothers in the back seat of the blue and white Ambassador station wagon: racing to the dam and the crooked river junction. We got there by 7:30 there was plenty sunlight ; it was just starting to be dim in the shade of the dense cottonwoods as the sun went down in the West.
“Where did you check the watch last?” Dad ordered. I think it was right around here where the grass is trampled down”: For and hour and a half we culled through the weeds: my other two brothers were really pissed at me for ruining their evening, losing Dad’s most prized possession; complaining quietly it was a waste of time; except Will who somehow felt responsible, separating the tall weeds one by one... Dad searched the edges of the perimeter. I was on my hands and knees slipping in the mud of the bank. If the ancient Bulova was waterproof this might be the ultimate test. Dad’s spirit for this hopeless venture was remarkable. His dark image patrolling in the shade a bit west of us, hoping to catch a glint of gold on the ground as dusk approached and the sun dipped below the dense leaves for one last burst of light before it went down. We had searched at an hour and a half as it was getting darker and darker in the shade as the sun dipped into the Dakota hills. I was praying to the Blessed Virgin. But I knew it t was absolutely hopeless: like finding a needle in the galaxy; my dad would have a grudge against me forever for this faux pas, and rightfully so. I knew what it was like to be in Hell finally: I was there.
Suddenly Will screamed: “I found it!” He was jumping up and down holding the treasure high as he could. I can still see a glint of the crystal as he waved the watch above his head. We charged over and huddled up as he handed it to Dad: he had a the stern look of the Marine sergeant we all knew but I could tell he was terribly relieved. It was dark by the time we got home. The incident at the dam was never mentioned again. The thrill of fishing at the dam was gone. Eventually I handed my rod and reel purchased with my paper route profits, over to Will. That year I received a Timex: [T]hey take a licking and keep on ticking] for my major Christmas present. Will inherited that Bulova from Dad and to this day: it still keeps perfect time.
Final project
14 years ago
