Court Street Panties

by Kathleen Daugherty Cantera

    I’m from Brooklyn, yeah, so what? I’m proud of it. I love the place.

    I was raised in Flatbush, moved to Sheepshead Bay, married the love of my life, moved to Bensonhurst, had kids and raised a family there, and now live in Boro Park. I’m a Brooklyn woman who has seen Brooklyn change over the years but the reality is that you have to expect it to change. I’m not always pleased with what I see but no one seems to ask me. Maybe it’s my sex, maybe my age… who knows.

    I’ve lived a full, busy, and exciting life and I’m pleased with it.

    My kids and grandkids all live in Edison, New Jersey, and since I no longer can drive; I see them only when they choose to see me. My kids see me as a person who raised them, set them off on good lives, is not a financial burden, and who is now mature and aging… somewhat gracefully. My grandkids are, by and large, polite with me but they see me as a dinosaur. We don’t share the same music, dance, clothes, language, interests, technology (Twitter versus TV), etc.

    They think that I am just old and never had a life of fun, excitement, or anything like the life they live. When we talk and I attempt to share to smallest parts of my life they always seem to have something more important to do. Maybe it is as all grandchildren are with their grandparents and I’m making too much of the way things have come to be.

    I’ve read stories and books, watched movies and documentaries, about growing up in Brooklyn and the city and have found some of them interesting but some pure fiction.

    Thinking that my life must be more than an epitaph on a gravestone, I’ve decided to capture and share some of my stories.

    The story I first want to share is one of the events that marked my life and has stayed with me as if it were just last week. The event is my very first NYC blackout and how it marked my life.

    Beginning in May, 1963, I worked as a stenographer at Bankers Trust at the corner of Wall and Nassau Streets in the city. It was a job with good hours, benefits and pay. Every day I could count of getting out early enough to freshen-up and get on the BMT going out to the Sheepshead Bay stop on the Brighton line. I usually was able to get the same train each night so I got to recognize some of the people, at least by sight.

    I knew enough not to talk to strangers but Sophia, who worked with me, and a neighbor of hers named Timmy, were my small group of straphangers. Both of them were more outgoing and seemed to know more people on the train than I did. I liked being with them since they made the trip go quicker.

    It was November 9, 1965, cold and dank, and I remember it clearly for what was to happen.

    I got caught working a little late and Sophia was waiting for me by the elevators. It was one of the few times I didn’t get to freshen-up but I knew how long the ride was and I knew I could make it. Sophia, Timmy and I pushed onto the train at the Broad Street station and were packed together. Sophia was telling stories and Timmy was making both of us laugh with comments about the people and what Sophia could have done to make her day even crazier. We weren’t making a scene or nothing but we were laughing pretty loud. We got some looks but it was no big deal.

    We were pretty much through the tunnel under the river into Brooklyn when the train came to a stop. It wasn’t too much out of the ordinary but the train didn’t start moving for a while. Timmy and Sophia kept talking and laughing like nothing had happened. During the time we were stopped the conductor went back and forth to the front of the train but didn’t say anything about what was going on. The passengers were getting annoyed by the delay and many were taking off their coats to cool off a little. The three of us were pretty patient for the first twenty minutes with Timmy making up stories about the train being rerouted to the Bronx and that he though he heard drops of water from the river hitting the top of the subway car.

    It was after thirty minutes that I was regretting not having taken time to freshen-up. While I couldn’t say anything; I guess I began to do a pretty controlled version of the pee-pee dance. Kathy could see that I was uncomfortable but didn’t say anything. I swore then and there that I would always freshen-up and never get on subway again when my last work break was at 3:20 in the afternoon.

    It was another 15 minutes before the conductor came through the car saying that there was a “problem” and that we had to go to the front of the train, climb down to the tracks, and walk to the Court Street station. Almost all the passengers were grumbling but followed directions. Some of the older lady passengers were saying that they wouldn’t walk through the tunnel because of “rats” but later they just seemed happy to be getting off the subway and having a way out of the tunnel.

    Firemen helped Timmy off, then Sophia and then me. I took a few steps after taking Sophia’s hand and then I just stood still, squeezed her hand and shuddered. I wet myself and let it go down my leg and into my boots. Sophia just asked me if I was OK and all I could say was, “I am now.”

    I was mortified and had tears rolling down my face. I felt that everyone could tell. Though they were climbing off a subway, in a dimly lit tunnel, and having to walk to a subway station, I was positive they all knew what I did.

    As we walked, with firemen using flashlights to show the way, I was sure EVERYONE, firemen included, could hear the sloshing or the pee squishing as I walked. The mere thought of it has me blush even now.

    We came out of the subway and the street was packed with cars at a standstill. Most of the businesses were closed but we passed a pizza-by-the-slice place that had a few candles lit in it. Sophia went up and asked the man in the doorway if she could use the bathroom. He first told her that the bathrooms were for customers use only but she said she would buy one slice but it better be “hot”. He looked at her again, hesitated, and then told her to go in but to watch her step. She pulled me in with her.

    Sophia took a Zippo lighter from her purse, lit it, took my hand and led me to the bathroom in the back of the shop. At the door, she handed me the lighter and told me to go first. I left the door ajar so we knew what we were both doing.

    I was a mess. My hose was wet but my skirt was dry. I took off my boots and emptied them into the sink. Off came my hose and them my panties and I jammed them behind the toilet. I used toilet tissue to dry myself and tried to wipe out my boots but was only moderately successful. I did a lot of flushing.

    I washed off my hands and tried to wipe my face with wet tissues; I was weeping again.

    As I came out Sophia told me, “Gimme the lighter and stand guard. I’ll be right out.”

    My hands were shoved deep into my coat pockets and I swore I could smell myself. I stood in silence… the tears were still coming.

    When she came out, she took my hand and asked me if I was OK. I told her I was just shaken by it all. Sophia said to me in a soft whisper, “Did you get your monthly visitor?”

    I looked at where I thought her face should be and said, “No… it’s not that.”

    “What is it then?”

    “I just had to use a bathroom.”

    “Sometimes when I have to push, it comes over me so quick.”

    “Yeah, I know.”

    When we walked out, arm in arm, I suddenly felt how cold it really was. We both put on a very false front of control and confidence. Timmy said he had called home and that his Mother told him about the blackout and that his Dad who worked evenings as a tailor at Martin’s was still downtown. For the next hour Timmy’s Mother relayed messages between Tim’s Dad and Timmy. The plan was for his Dad to meet us at Court Street and Atlantic Avenue. We didn’t know exactly where we would meet but we had a plan.

    As Sophia and I huddled in the doorway of a closed Syrian bakery on Atlantic Avenue, Timmy stood by the curb, looking for his Dad’s very distinctive 1962 green Pontiac Bonneville. Fortunately, the traffic was moving slowly so that Timmy could see in all directions. As we waited Sophia and I took turns using a pay phone to call home to let everyone know that we were OK and that we had a friend that was going to get us home.

    Sophia tried to cheer me up and did pretty good over the hour as we waited. We talked little girl stuff and wondered why Timmy didn’t have to pee. She simply said, “It’s one of the wonders of men”. We laughed.

    When Timmy’s Dad arrived another half hour later, we piled in with Timmy in the front and us in the back. As we got going Sophia said that she was still taken by the night’s events and asked if she could put the he window down a little. Timmy’s Dad glanced at Timmy and said OK. We both put them down an inch, both for the fresh air and rid the car of any lingering odors. We listened to WINS and made some small talk about the blackout but kept pretty quiet.

    Driving home wasn’t easy but Timmy’s Dad knew some ways around that got us up to 4th Avenue and Flatbush Avenues and then he stayed on Flatbush till Avenue U. We could see some areas that had lights on and took it as a good sign.

    As we rode I thought about people still trapped in trains and in blacked out buildings. I thought of the firemen and police men working like crazy to get people out. I thought how lucky we were to have each other. I thought about the pizza parlor owner that would have such a surprise when he next opened for business.

    November 9, 1965, has always stayed with me not just because of the blackout but because I realized how vulnerable we were. It the blackout could happen by accident how much worse could it be if someone planned to cripple the northeast. In 1963, we did not think of terrorists but only of madmen who could bring havoc to our country by small scale acts. It was almost forty years later that we saw what determined madmen were capable of.

    The blackout passed with but mild attention. Two days later we were back to being straphanging commuters with our little jobs.

    A year later Sophia married Artie, a waiter, who she had met at Lundy’s. It lasted one more year and she divorced him and took her daughter with her to Miami to restart her life. I think I saw her twice after she left. We simply lost touch.

    I dated Timmy off and on for a year or so and in 1967 we moved in together… without benefit of clergy. From the start it didn’t seem right. While we had fun and explored each other we never really clicked. I moved home after 6 months to the abject disappoint of Timmy’s mother who was looking for grandchildren.

    In 1969, I met my one true love, Jerry. At the time of the blackout he had worked a Chemical Bank and was evidently one or two subway cars behind us. Sharing the blackout became one of the things we had in common. Till he passed away, we would toast the blackout each year with our own Court Street Panties… 2 ounces Amaretto, 2 ounces Tanqueray, and a dash of lemon juice.

[end] & Copyright by Ken Thompson - 2009.

Brooklyn Bridge Reverie

by Ken Thompson and Many Others

    Best with small screen window and sound on.


    
    

[end] & Copyright by Ken Thompson - 2009.

Marty Hamilton, a guy I know from college and the old neighborhood, has been very ill with Alzheimers and seems to go in and out of being lucid pretty easily. Darla Jean, his wife originally from North Carolina takes very good care of him... medicines, appointments, telling of memories, and just plain ol' care of him.

After Marty retired from his employer after 38 years, he spent time futzing around trying to come up with a new product that would "WOW" the industry and make him enormously rich... not that were in need... just that he wanted his name associated with a product rather that a corporate name.

He failed repeatedly. Some of his proposals and ideas never made it beyond Alpha level discussions. He and Darla Jean traveled, visited friends and had time for children and grandchildren.

Just before the signs of Alzheimers became obvious he was working an a liquid that made pool water smell better... less "chlorinee" (that's how he explained it to me... who'da guessed.)It was rejected outright. But when his daughter was visiting in the summer of '07, in one of his more lucid moments, he explained the product to her and poured a few ounces in to his in-ground pool.

Nothing spectacular happened but after a few minuted, all of a sudden the water around granddaughter, Denice, turned RED. She started screaming and they got her out of the pool. She wasn't hurt at all, there were no signs that the red was blood, and she was just super scared. The only sign of what had happened was that her skin was a rosy pink from has shoulder down to her knees.

Her brother in the pool wasn't effected and he continued to swim until his Mom called him out. After an hour there was no red coloring in the water at all.

They didn't take Denice to an emergency room or doctor but she did shower. Over the next four hours the coloring of her skin returned to normal. The only thing that she could remember that was out of the ordinary was that she may have peed in the pool.

The next day Nick, Denice's brother was told to play in the pool. Martin then poured a few more ounces of his concoction into the pool and then told Nick to pee. At first he said he couldn't but after five minutes the water around him turned and he had the experiences that his sister had.

Over the rest of summer Marty tried his experiments annd began to capture the "scientific" details of what was happening. Marty had a product that seemed to have no market value unless you wanted to grossly embarras someone in a pool.

Early this year Darla Jean contacted me and asked if I could help. I know nothing, really, about chemistry and have only minor experiences in a marketing start-up company.

Since then I've helped Darla Jean protect Marty's discovery though everyone thinks the product is "funny". Everyone seems to want a piece of the action but doesn't want to invest too much time and effort. After Darla Jean contacted another retiree from the same company Marty was at and he has some action rolling.

Because of FDA, etc., hear he has primarily worked with company's in the far east that don't have the same restraints that exist in the U.S.

Evidently the company in China is not interested in turning pee-water red but to use the concept as a way of delivering medicines on a mass basis. Darla Jean talks with me every two weeks or so and just wants to talk about what's going on. I don't have answers but I like talking with her.

BTW, last summer I snuck (sneaked) some of Marty's liquid into a local community pool and was absolutely amazed by how many people pee in the pool. I did not reveal my role to the EMT or police or to any the parents... you might guess why.

No, Not Me

by "Unknown" with some assistance from Ken Thompson

My daughter is a coordinator in "Special Ed" and says that growing up with me as her parent has more than qualified her for her position. She has told me that A.D.D. is essentially a chronic neurological state, which usually occurs in children but which infrequently shows itself in mature adults. It seems that these adult individuals may reach a state wherein there are certain regressions that manifest themselves as "attention deficit disorder". Since the occurrence of A.D.D. in adults has not been scientifically studied, the manifestation of A.D.D. symptoms in adults has been casually classified as A.A.A.D.D.: Age Activated Attention Deficit Disorder.


Classical symptoms include a lack of attention, inability to focus, forgetfulness, mood swings, minor irritability and general disorganization. These symptoms may be casually blamed on stress or other relevant or irrelevant factors. Because it is uncommon for adults to develop A.D.D., it may take longer than usual for an individual to approach a doctor about these symptoms and even longer for the doctor to diagnose and develop a protocol to address both the symptoms and the cause.

When I became a pensioner, rather than a retiree, one of the counselors who spoke with me emphasized that I should make a list for myself each night of the things I'm supposed to do the next day. Along with getting a pension check I was told to "exercise, focus, plan my time and work my plan".

After about three year of pensioning, I was unofficially diagnosed with A.A.A.D.D.: Age Activated Attention Deficit Disorder. My life seemed to be overcome by the tyranny of random and trivial events and decisions. This is how it manifests itself:

I get up, wash up, pull on walking shorts, a non-offensive T-shirt, and sandals and head off to kiss my wife good morning.

I prick my finger and take a reading; I down a glass of apple juice with my meds and expect to have a fun-filled and productive day.

As I walk down the driveway to get the morning paper to read with my coffee, I see that the garden flowers are a little droopy and so I decide to give them a quick watering.

As I walk with the hose on to the flowers, I see my car and notice that it is dingy and decide it needs a washing to get the dust and leaves off. Won't take too much time or effort.

Being wise and considerate, I decide to get the car keys to move my car so I won't wet my wife's car during the wash. Looking for the keys, I see yesterday's mail on the entryway table, put down my keys, and decide to scan it to see if anything important came in.

All the junk mail and most of the advertisement and solicitations get chucked into the small wastepaper can under the table and the bills put into a neat pile.

Seeing that the can is full I decide to dump it into the big garbage can in the garage and head out to actually complete something.

With the garage door now open, I see that the mailbox is pretty close by, and the cute neighbor lady is out pulling weeds, so I decide to check for today's mail. The short walk will do me good also.

After I gather the today's and yesterday's bills and try to check them without my reading glasses, that I can't find, I decide to pay the ones with a close in due date… if I could make it out. Getting my checkbook and finally getting a pen that writes, I see that I only have one check left.

Realizing that I'll need more than one check, I head off to my desk in the study to get another book of checks.

Passing the kitchen I notice the cup of coffee my wife poured for me when I first got up and to enjoy with a casual read of the morning paper. After putting it into the microwave to re-heat, I head off to the study for the checks.

With the checkbook in hand I see that the coffee is heated and figure I'll sit down for a moment to sip and enjoy the HOT coffee… I'll read the paper later. I put down the checkbook on the kitchen table to use two hands with the coffee so I won't spill any.

Seeing that the coffee had boiled over in the microwave, I go for a paper towel to do a cleanup but see the vase of Costco flowers out of the corner of my eye. Figuring that it will only take a moment, I decide to freshen the water and give them an aspirin.

I put the dry paper towel down and head to the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. There I notice my reading glasses that had been missing since yesterday afternoon. Having them will make life easier.

I'll need them later when I finally get to read the newspaper. I'll put them on my desk where I'll be able to find them later. Heading to the study I remember the vase of flowers and elect to at the very least freshen the water and will add the aspirin later.

I temporarily put the eyeglasses on the counter so I won't lose them.

I open a cabinet to get a small pitcher and see the TV remote on the other counter that my wife took out of the den. I realize that tonight, when we go to watch TV, I'll be looking for the remote but won't remember that it's in the kitchen, I decide to put it back in the den where it belongs.

Knowing that I must focus, I commit to, at the very least, freshen the vase of flowers. Using a pitcher that is probably too large I spill some water on the counter and floor.

So, I set the remote back on the counter and go to get more paper towels to clean up the mess.

As I pull off probably too many towels I look out the kitchen window and see the backyard I was supposed to clean up yesterday. I also try to remember what I was planning to do and can't figure out why I have a handful of paper towels.

It is now 9:30AM and I'm running a familiar A.A.A.D.D. pattern that will continue… all day!

Already, at this time of day, I'm getting behinder:

The garden flowers are thirsty,

The garden hose is on and leaking,

The car isn't washed,

The car keys are missing,

The bills aren't paid,

The small wastepaper receptacle is missing,

There is a cold cup of coffee sitting on the counter,

I still have only one check left in the book,

I haven't had morning coffee… or breakfast… or read the newspaper,

Some coffee residue is baked on the inside of the microwave,

The Costco flowers are kaput,

The spilled water got tracked throughout the house,

The reading glasses are still lost,

The TV remote is somewhere other than in the den,

The half filled pitcher of water is on the counter,

As is a clump of dry paper towels, and

Tomorrow's task plan isn't even started, etc.

Now it's 4PM and I'm sitting in my disheveled backyard with a glass of Zinfandel my wife handed me when she said she was going to straighten things up. I try to figure out why nothing got done today when I was so damn busy… and I'm now really tired.

I realize A.A.A.D.D. is a serious problem for me and others, though the medical journals, AARP and all my doctors give it scant attention. I personally choose to think that my situation is "minor".

I should get some help for it but I should also "exercise, focus, plan my time at the task level and work my plan".

The glass of Zif is almost empty and I go to get up for a refill but on the way to the kitchen I'll check my email and Google myself to see how and what I'm doing... or maybe play a game or two of solitaire.

[end] & Copyright by Ken Thompson - 2008.

Julie's Situation

by Ken Thompson

    "Did you see Julie at church… she looks like she's four months pregnant and I'm sure she's not just gaining weight… I think she's having a daughter!"


    Pauline Gilmartin was my Aunt and a "no-nonsense" mother who centered her life on her family and on her job as a nurse at Kings County. Though she was God fearing and inspired, He seemed to be in third place behind the family and career He had given her. She took His gifts very seriously.

    Aunt Pauline was a stalwart of the extended family and as solid as could be. She was a down-to-earth, take charge woman who was always invited to, and showed up at, all family gathering. She was the one that always seemed to be cleaning up, getting food and drinks organized, and taking care of crying babies and small children no matter who's they were or where she was.

    Aunt Pauline's position in the family was in part dictated by her mother being Maryellen Cunningham McGrath, the reigning matriarch and overseer for the family.

    While she looked stern and stand-offish, she was actually warm and very caring. All in all, I liked her though, as one of the middle kids, I knew enough to stay out of her way or else, I'd get a job to do.

    Her daughters, Marianne and Julie, were a little older than me and were ever under her watchful eye. Having both daughters beautiful and outgoing, obviously from Uncle Gene's side of the family, added to the requirement for monitoring. The girls were not allowed to ever visit the Shamrock Bar and Grill whether their father, Uncle Gene, was working there or not.

    Don't get me wrong, both the girls led very full lives and were into things to keep them active and out of trouble -- usually.

    Though they were of the same parents, they were very different. Marianne was more outgoing, more athletic, more stylish to the minute, and better at jitterbug and lindy dancing. Julie was a little younger, more reserved; severe yet classic in appearance, and 40's in dress. Her interests were theater, ballet, and Latin dance.

    Both the girls attracted boys to their house on 58th Street. Marianne was coquettish with all of them though she was always goin' steady with Jimmy Morrison. While he would get annoyed with her letting other boys come around, he tended to flirt with any girl in a tight skirt or tight sweater. It was a general feeling that they broke up and got back together every three weeks or so.

    Boys that might come and walk by the Gilmartin house to "run into" Julie were usually disappointed. Julie thought boys her age to be childish and immature. At whatever their age, if they even showed any hormonal interest in Marianne's coquettishness, Julie would go into the house, stoically, and read.

    While Marianne always had "dates", most always with Jimmy, Julie would go out with groups of her theater or ballet friends.

    Aunt Pauline wasn't concerned with the differences in the girls as long as she knew where the girls were and what they were doing. As a matter of fact, she was pleased that the girls weren't in competition with each other. She also took pride in the fact that she had a very good relationship with the girls and could talk with them in confidence about most anything.

    When Marianne graduated from St. Joseph's Commercial HS, Aunt Rose helped her get a job at ConEd so that she could save money for her wedding to Jimmy. Deciding to continue to live at home was supposed to help with the wedding finances. Uncle Gene started collecting "rent" from Marianne and socked it away for the wedding and for getting Marianne and Jimmy off to a good start.

    When Julie graduated two years after Marianne, she and two friends got an apartment in the East Village and she started a career in fashion modeling. While she got some work it wasn't as easy nor as rewarding as she hoped but she was in the City and didn't want to go back to Bay Ridge except to visit.

    Once the girls had graduated from High School, Aunt Pauline knew that things would be different. One of the first things to change was that Jimmy would come over every night after work at the Sunoco station, wash up and have dinner with Marianne. Marianne didn't cook, mind you, so Aunt Pauline would have a longer day in the kitchen after a long day at work. When Jimmy started calling Aunt Pauline "Mom", that was the last straw and Aunt Pauline announced that from then on Marianne would tend the cooked food and that Marianne and Jimmy would have to clean up and do the dishes. Aunt Pauline used to kid that as long as she heard them talking or the plates and silverware clanging she knew nothing was going on.

    When Marianne and Jimmy finally got married in June, 1958, Julie was the Maid Of Honor and looked much more striking than the bride. Marianne went with a puffy, Cinderella look while Julie went with what was to become the Twiggy look. While her look was very different from what was normally seen at a wedding reception at the Oriental Manor in Bensonhurst, it was both stylish and captivating. Her guest for the reception, Jacque Something-or-other, was an artist from the Village who had yet to sell any painting for other than rent and food money.

    His attention to the proceedings showed gross indifference and not even feigned interest. As soon as the bouquet was tossed, and for which Julie didn't even raise her arms to fake a catch, they left and that was the end of that.

    On the whole, my family can make just about anyone feel welcomed but Jacque refused to join in at all. That was probably okay since he and his look, Bohemian, was not something my family particularly valued or was valued in Brooklyn.

    Aunt Pauline attempted to start a ritual of "Sunday dinner at Mom's" but it got nowhere. While she and Julie would speak every three days or so; the topics that had been of mutual interest no longer seemed to be of shared between them. Julie seemed to stop by less and less though she always made an appearance at bigger family event gatherings.

    At the Our Lady of Refuge church, for the wedding of Kevin Deckker to Christina Harrison, in August, 1960, Marianne, at six months pregnant, got to wear a new black skirt-pants and a glittery gold maternity top for the first time. She glowed, the aunts fawned over her, and Jimmy strutted like a peacock.

    Neither Kevin, Christina, Marianne; nor even Jimmy, remained the center of attention for long.

    At the reception, Aunt Rose (a McGrath by marriage if you're keeping track) with a glass of beer in hand, was trying to get some inside information when she asked to everyone in general, in a hushed but loud voice; "Did you see Julie at church… she looks like she's four months pregnant and I'm sure she's not just gaining weight… I think she's having a daughter!"

    Julie's condition was obvious to all who saw her in spite of the raincoat she carried in front of her but no one was talking 'cause no one actually knew anything. While Aunt Rose could raise questions with other of "The Girls", wisely, she wasn't too direct in her approach.

    When Aunt Pauline came into the reception room with Julie and Marianne on her arms and the three of them seemingly giddy sharing secrets, no one really knew much more than that Pauline was seemingly in the know and things seemed okay. Uncle Gene had the head waiter squeeze in another chair and place setting into Table 7 and rewarded him with a ten dollar bill. As Julie sat down everyone fell into place… on her right… Aunt Pauline, Marianne, Jimmy, and Uncle Gene. Out of nowhere the seat to Julie's left was filled by Bridgette McGrath and on her left was Aunt Rose and then my Mom.

    When Grandma McGrath came over to the table, Uncle Gene willingly gave up his seat and Jimmy exited with him to the bar. Anne Morrison jumped into her brother Jimmy's seat. Other seats at the table were filled, and refilled, by others of "The Girls". The cast of visitors to the table continued to turnover throughout the evening.

    As I stood with a glass of ginger ale in my hand, watching all this develop, Jimmy's father wound up by my side. After a moment of looking at the going-ons he said, as a general comment, "Look at 'em. They're circling the wagons. No harm will come to the Gilmartin girls today. One nasty remark or gesture and those women will have you skinned and floating the Gowanus Canal -- face down. They are all one family and nothing bad happens to one of their own."

    All I could do was nod.

    Since the women had taken over Table 7, the men had to fend for themselves for table space elsewhere. That was really okay with them though.

    The rest of the reception had Uncle Gene and Jimmy running drinks between the bar and Table 7. That was their task this day and they did it with a smile, quickly, and the smallest of acknowledgement of a complement sent their way. Aunt Pauline was very proud of them.

    Julie spent that night at Marianne's. Jimmy was relegated to the sofa which was just as well… he was pretty soused.

    When Uncle Gene and Aunt Pauline finally got home that night after ferrying family members around, he asked Aunt Pauline to fill him in but she said she really didn't know that much more than Uncle Gene knew at that point. Questions about the father and/or a marriage only had Aunt Pauline respond, "She knows who the father is but he's taking no responsibility for the baby and Julie does not see him as a husband."

    "Is it that Jacque guy from Marianne's wedding?"

    "She's not saying and if she isn't interested in marrying the father that is probably good. We've gone through tougher things than this and this will work out. We'll find out when we find out. I'm tired."


    Late Sunday, the day after the wedding and after my Mom had had ten or so conversations with others of "The Girls"; my Mom got me alone and asked, "Do you know what was happening yesterday?"

    "Yeah, we found out Julie was knocked up."

    "That is not an expression we use in this house. You can say that she is pregnant, or "with child" or even that she's going to have a baby but we do not use that particular phrase in this house."

    "Okay, we found out that Julie was pregnant and I didn't know she was married."

    ""You do realize that you don't have to be married to become pregnant?"

    "Yes but the sequence was supposed to be "love, marriage and then the baby carriage." Right?"

    "Yes but things don't always happen in that order."

    ""Mom, I know about the birds and the bees so we don't have to go through that again."

    "Okay, what do you know?"

    "Well, I know that Janie's friend Sara from East 3rd Street is pregnant and her father beat up the guy until he agreed to marry her. I know that Sara doesn't really want to marry a guy who was being forced to marry her but she probably will. I know the guy said he used a condom but something happened. I know it can happen to just about anyone… even to Julie… a Gilmartin."

    Ignoring my sarcasm, "What should happen from here on?"

    "I don't really know. I guess that since Julie didn't have an abortion AND she isn't hiding the pregnancy AND her family is standing by her, she means to keep the baby or give it up for adoption later. She'll have to make more decisions."

    "What should be the father's role?"

    "That's up to Julie and the father…they have to decide."

    "You know too much."




    It was two weeks after the Dekker wedding when Aunt Pauline made a bunch of phone calls for a gathering of "The Girls". They didn't get called together too often and when they did it usually was something that was important and impacted the entire family. In the past, they had resolved how one of the families could get money for a home down payment and even who could use the various cemetery plots that were controlled by "The Girls" and the families. The last really big item was how to come up with the money for Great Grandma, Catherine Sullivan McGrath's funeral and burial.

    Pauline didn't have to announce the subject for the gathering but everyone could guess that it had something to do with Julie or even Marianne.

    When everyone gathered at the back room of the Shamrock Bar and Grill, drinks in hand, Grandma McGrath had everyone settle down and said Pauline had something to say. It went like this; "Thank you for coming. We have a delicate matter and I need your support. Julie is pregnant and the baby is due in late January. I don't know who the father is and Julie isn't telling. It seems she wants nothing to do with him and he wants nothing to do with her or the baby."

    "Before you start murmuring, remember it is a different world than when we were courting and getting married. The times and practices have changed, whether we like it or not, and we have to make the best of it."

    "What happened to Julie could happen to any one of our daughters. Think about it."

    The silence was stark in recognition of the truth.

    "What I'm asking you to help me with is just getting through Marianne's and Julie's pregnancies just as if they were both in the best of circumstances. The blood in both babies is half Gene's and mine and I ask you to remember that."

    "Julie will be moving back into our house and I've already taken her to Dr. Scanlon for a prenatal checkup. Everything is fine."

    "I know times are tight so what Marianne, Julie, and I would like is for there to be one joint baby shower, one christening party and no one speculating on what we don't know."

    "If that's okay with you, I'll try to answer any of your questions."

    There were a couple of rumbles in the room but everyone waited for someone else to ask the first question.

    Aunt Rose at first hesitated and then asked, "Is Julie having a boy or a girl?"

    "I don't know but you'll know before any shower"

    Sarah Morrison asked the next question. "What will be the baby's last name?"

    "Gilmartin, same as Julie's. She has no idea about first names but seems to like theatrical type names. I'll be trying to discourage that."

    There were giggles throughout the room.
    Patricia Hanratty, enjoying any time away from Sean, hesitantly asked, "How is Julie with money to live on?"

    "She was barely getting by in the city. She has no real savings, no insurance, and no support from the father. Till the baby comes, she will stay with us and we'll take care of her. After the baby is born she'll need some help getting back on her feet so if you could contribute to the McGrath account over at Manufacturers Hanover we would sure appreciate it."

    "When Julie is ready to go back to work she'll need child care. We would like to see if someone in the family can help out and even make a few dollars by helping with the baby. Any more questions?"

    While there may have been some in people's minds; no more came out. All the women knew Pauline for a long time and knew that she was stressed and was trying to do the best she could. They knew that the situation was not what Pauline would have preferred but that it is what it is. They knew that she was only asking for the type of support she had given all "The Girls" over the years.

    Some of the support she had given had been private and some had been more public in the family. Julie had made her situation public by appearing at the wedding.

    Pauline looked around the room slowly; trying to make eye contact with every woman there; "Okay, I'll have Gene bring in another round and there are some cheese and ham sandwiches, salads, and coffee on the table over there so help yourselves."

    About half "The Girls" came over, one at a time, to speak with Pauline. All offered encouragement, support and even financial assistance. None offered after-the-fact advice that would be useless or an insult to the Gilmartin family.

    Over the next two months things were pretty quiet. Julie at first had gone in to the city to visit with friends but soon realized that interests and life styles had changed and were no longer shared. Julie spent more time with Marianne and even made their visits to Dr. Scanlon to coincide.



    While the sisters were getting along wonderfully, there was one loose end. Marianne wouldn't divulge the name she and Jimmy had picked for their new baby daughter and Julie wouldn't tell her choice of name if she was having a daughter. They would kid each other, and their Mom, about choices. "Penelope" got a lot of chuckles as did "Morrisann Morrison" and "Martini Gilmartin." Julie, who still read a lot of fashion magazines, seemed to like European sounding names while Marianne picked names because she simply liked them... no matter what Jimmy seemed to think of them.

    One Sunday, after an extended Gilmartin family gathering and while still at the dinner table, the name issue came up again. Sarah Morrison, Jimmy's Mom, said that she thought naming the baby after a deceased relative should be considered. After trying out most of the possible names, a decision had not been arrived at. Finally, with a shy smile, Marianne said that she and Jimmy had chosen a name and were ready to announce it. Julie then said she would state her choice so the anticipation would be over.

    For whatever the reason, Uncle Gene suggested they write their chosen names on a piece of paper and then announce them and they agreed.

    Marianne stood up and said, "Our daughter will be called Pauline after my Mom."

    There was clapping and congratulations given and as Aunt Pauline stood by Uncle Gene in his chair, with apron on and a dish towel in her hand, she gently cried.

    Julie in her chair blushed bright red.

    Jimmy turned to Julie and said, "What will be the name if you have a girl?"

    Julie just looked blank and in silence passed the piece of paper with the names to Jimmy to read.

    "The girl's name would be Pauline and Eugene if it's a boy."

    At this point Aunt Pauline had the dish towel up to her mouth and tears were flowing down her face. In a flash Marianne and Julie were up by their Mom, all crying and all hugging. Everyone got into the crying and hugging thing… except for the guys who were smart enough to not say something smart-alecky.

    Julie was then asked what was her second choice for a girl's name and she said; "Marianne." The hugging and crying came anew.

    Aunt Margaret, sitting at the far end of the table turned and said; "We're a big family but this is about the first time we've had baby namings with a damn good reason."



    As Marianne's November due date approached she was" as big as a house" (a guy expression) and very uncomfortable. She never complained though she looked as if every move was a monumental effort. Just up to the birth, Marianne was house bound, usually with feet up. Her time was spent mending clothing and getting the nursery portion of her bedroom set up. Julie, being about seven months pregnant, spent almost all her time either cleaning her mother's home or spending time with Marianne.

    About a week before Marianne's baby was born, the father of Julie's baby made contact with her and indicated that he felt both terrible and guilty and was willing to seek a reconcilement between them. Julie was very surprised by the phone call but was very composed and kept the conversation brief. All she said to him was, "Please stay away."

    That evening when her Mom and Dad got home she told them of the conversation that day with Tommy Dowling, the father of her child. They sat silently and then her Dad said, "What do you want to do, Julie?"

    "While I want the baby to have a daddy I don't want to marry Tommy. It wouldn't be good for the baby, for me, or even for him. I don't love him."

    "What do you want to have happen?"

    "If he had never contacted me again it would have been fine. I don't want him in my life or in the baby's."

    After a moment of stark silence, Uncle Gene first looked to Aunt Pauline and then said; "We can take care of this and he won't ever bother us again."

    "You won't hurt him?"

    "No... but I'll need a phone number for him."



    Later that night, Uncle Gene made a series of phone calls to men he knew he could count on. The next day, Uncle Gene called Tommy Dowling and made an appointment to meet him the following Saturday morning at McHugh's Bar and Grill on Fourth Avenue. Uncle Gene went as far as to suggest that if Tommy wanted to bring along a friend or two that would be okay.

    On the Friday night, a number of men met with Uncle Gene at his house. During that time they plotted a strategy for Saturday that became pretty complex as the various men expressed concerns and made suggestions.

    On Saturday morning Uncle Gene, Uncle Phil, and Uncle Dave went into McHugh's and spoke to the bartender who was setting up for the day. Uncle Gene knew him and told him they were going to use the back room to talk some "business". The bartender gave them a fast once over and nodded his head in agreement.

    Uncle Gene particularly wanted Uncle Dave with him since he knew how to handle himself and was a cop in the 60th Precinct. They didn't expect trouble but they felt they couldn't be too cautious. When they were first planning the meeting, they decided to have Sean Hanratty and Kevin Clark stay outside the bar in their car.

    It was a little after eleven when two men walked in and asked for Gene Gilmartin. The bartender pointed them to the back and returned to his duties.

    One of the men was younger, maybe 32, and the other was much broader and about 40. They looked alike and were brothers.

    After brief introductions and handshakes, Tommy Dowling's brother, Robert, spoke to Uncle Dave; "You're from the 6-0… you were two years ahead of me at the Academy."

    The two men exchange career details and identified mutual acquaintances and seemed to reach an "understanding".

    Finally, Uncle Gene got an opening and spoke; "Tommy," looking directly at him and speaking as though they were the only two in the room, "Julie is doing just fine and really doesn't want you in her or her baby's life."

    "But I want…"

    "Just hold on and let me finish. I'm talking about what is right for Julie and the baby. Since you found out she was pregnant you've had no contact with her till this week and now you may be just feeling guilt or something but Julie has told me she wants no involvement with you."

    "That baby is half mine and I should be part of its life."

    "The baby will be well cared for and the both of them will be in a good solid family environment. Our family realizes that you will be giving up something that is important and that you should be compensated for it. We hope that we can reach a binding, legal agreement that compensates you for giving up all your rights and allows all the parties to move on. From what I understand, additional money would allow you to get out of debt, maybe finish school or even start a business."

    "You can't buy me off."

    "I'm not trying to buy you off… I'm just trying to reach an agreement that would be mutually beneficial. If we can't reach an agreement, I assure you that our entire family is prepared to fight this legally and to any extreme. The financial strain of you trying to get a judgment in your favor, in this state, will break you and you will have nothing. For us to come to an agreement is in everyone's best interest."

    Robert spoke to Gene and said; "You're asking for Tommy to give up all rights and contact with the mother of his child and with the child itself. These are very important and as a Catholic they are exceptionally important. Giving them up is not taken lightly."

    Uncle Gene nodded agreement and said; "You're right. We too take this seriously and are prepared to compensate Tommy $750 now and $200 each January for the next five years. If Tommy breaks the agreement he will be required to repay all monies given him ten-fold and we will take him to court for defaulting on the agreement. If our family doesn't make its payments on time the agreement will be voided and he can keep all monies given to him to that point."

    "$750 now?", said Tommy.

    "Yes… today… a check… as soon as the agreement is signed."

    "I gotta talk to my brother."

    Robert and Tommy went out to the bar which now had a few regulars in.

    Uncle Phil turned to Uncle Gene and said; "Whatta you think he'll do?"
    "I don't know. He ought to take it but who knows."

    When Tommy and Robert came back in Robert spoke; "Without rejecting your offer I'd like to propose $1,000 now and no future payments. For this Tommy will sign the agreement today."

    "I never wanted you to make the baby a bargaining chip but I want it resolved as soon as possible… I can go to a single payment of $900 but not a cent more."

    Tommy spoke; "Mr. Gilmartin, you have an agreement that is in the best interests of Julie and the baby."



    Uncle Gene ordered a bottle of J&B scotch and said that he had to make a call to the lawyer who would bring over the Agreement to be signed.

    As they waited for the lawyer, Douglas Greenwood, to bring the papers they had sandwiches and got a little relaxed.

    When he finally arrived, the document was more complex than Tommy expected. The "where as's", "here to for's" and "not withstanding's" were more than he could handle. His attempt to read and understand it only got him though part of the second page. In frustration he turned to his brother and said; "I don't understand all of this… should I sign it?"

    Robert said, "You know what you are giving up and the consequences… Mr. Gilmartin laid it all out and you understood that… the rest of it is a formality. If there is anything funny in the Agreement they'll have to account to me."

    Uncle Dave said; "And to me, if you break the agreement."

    The two police officers just glared at each other.

    "Where do I sign?"

    As Mr. Greenwood was handing the pen to Tommy he said; "You understand what you're signing and doing it of your own free will, right?"

    "Yeah"

    After all the signings and witnessing, Mr. Greenwood wrote a check and handed it with an acknowledgement to Tommy Dowling who looked at it, folded it, and put it in his pocket. As he did he looked to his brother as if to say "Let's get out of here."

    As they left the bar Dave turned to Gene and said; "I'm glad it's over. Getting it down to a single payment was a good idea. It's over and closed."

    Gene replied; "I hope so. I coulda killed the son of a bitch."



    On the ride back to 58th Street, everyone was quiet, relieved and glad that it was over.

    That evening, over dinner, Uncle Gene told Aunt Pauline, Julie, Marianne and Jimmy what had transpired and they were all quiet. Perhaps their concern was what might happen in the future or even how close they had come to a horrible predicament. After a short period of just looking at each other Julie said; "Thank you, Daddy, I love you so much."



    Marianne and Jimmy's baby was born quickly and easily. They had not gotten to the hospital with ten minutes to spare.

    Baby Pauline was light in weight but long in length. Except for forceps marks on her forehead she was unmarked and showed no signs of stress of any kind. Her mother was tired but doing fine and Jimmy did his peacock strut.

    The baby took easily to the breast and prospered.

    Julie stayed with her sister and helped with the baby. There was no shortage of "The Girls" to help with baby and mother. A new baby brings out the best and the joy in women.



    The two months till Julie's baby was due were easy but when the baby began to come things took a bad turn. The labor was over 18 hours long and Julie's slim build put her and the baby into distress. Dr. Scanlon was delayed getting to the hospital and a hospital resident doctor delayed taking action for the relief of the baby and Julie. As soon as he arrived, Dr. Scanlon ordered preparations for a Caesarean Section and moved as quickly as he could.

    In about a half an hour the baby had been taken and whisked away and sole attention was given to the life, and possible death of Julie. For over an hour, no information came out except from the head nurse on duty who personally knew Aunt Pauline. To the concern of everyone anxiously waiting and praying, the Catholic Chaplain was paged and Julie was given the Last Rites, a blessing and prayer when someone is in imminent risk of death.

    Hearing that Julie's family was highly stressed and anxious in a nearby waiting room, Dr. Scanlon briefly visited them and told them that he was optimistic for Julie's life though she had lost a lot of blood. Dr. Scanlon conveyed confidence and relief to the family though the splatters and stains of Julie's blood on his gown further raised anxieties.

    In another half-hour Dr. Scanlon came out again and announced that Julie had been stabilized and sedated needing rest and attention to help her regain her strength. Everyone was relieved though there was still significant concern.

    Julie had to stay at the hospital two weeks. After the first week, her baby, Eugene, was taken home to Marianne's where he was nursed and cared for. During the two weeks, Aunt Pauline seemed to be constantly bustling between Julie in the hospital, Marianne and the babies at Marianne's, and her own job at King's County which was needed for the financial support of her expanded family.

    Julie's situation was not good. She was sickly, in a funk, and cried a lot. She would hold her baby, infrequently, but wasn't what you would call "warm and cuddly" with him. It was not that she was resentful… just that she didn't seem to relate to him.

    Aunt Pauline and Uncle Gene tried to help her as best they could. They would take the family out to lunch or dinner at the Hamilton House or one of the other better restaurants further out in Bay Ridge. They would try to get everyone to Sunday mass at OLPH and sometimes they would just go for a drive. Sometimes they would just take Julie and baby Eugene so that Marianne and Jimmy could have some time together.

    At first, Aunt Pauline, thought that Julie would get over it but she didn't. After four weeks she arranged for Julie to speak to psych doctors who might be able to help her. After two months of meetings, things weren't much better… and in some ways they were worse. Marianne had been prepared to take care of a baby but now it was as if she had twins. While "The Girls" helped out, Marianne had both babies Monday through Friday and Aunt Pauline had baby Eugene over the weekends if she was not working.

    Jimmy had become resentful of the time the babies took for Marianne and felt he was being neglected. He knew he would no longer be first in Marianne's eyes but now he seemed to be relegated way down the line. He loved the babies and helped with each of them. The problem for him was the entire situation.

    Julie's condition prevented her from getting a job and she sometimes just moped around… often teary eyed.

    When her baby was six months old, Julie began to come around and regained control of herself though she still met with the doctors. She helped out more, took added responsibility for her son, took better care of herself, and announced that she would be getting a job. The Manufacturers Hanover branch hired her and put her to work processing all aspects of consumer loans.

    When she got her first paycheck, she bought pizzas for the family and announced she would be giving half her paycheck to Marianne and Jimmy. She said that she would be paying her Mom and Dad rent as well as some payback for her medical expenses as well as for the Tommy Dowling incident. Everyone felt, in a way, better.

    Julie was not back to what she had been but things were improved. While she liked her job she did not see it as long term. She made some new friends and went to the city once in awhile to see off-Broadway shows, leaving baby Eugene with Aunt Pauline… which she definitely did not mind.

    When baby Eugene was nine months old, Julie asked to meet with Marianne, Jimmy and her Mom and Dad. The topic was shocking and not something that any family should ever face.

    Julie told of how she was not happy and never expected to be happy again… she told that though she loved baby Eugene she did not feel as a mother should… she said that she was so in debt that with her job at the bank she would never be able to repay everyone… she said that she wanted a new life and to be fulfilled… she said that she had a proposal to put before her family for their consideration.

    Everyone was silent. They wanted to hear more but were waiting for Julie to speak.

    She continued; "I would like Jimmy and Marianne to adopt baby Eugene and raise him as their own. Marianne is more a mother than I would ever be and the babies are so close in age that whey could be raised as twins. Having the baby kept in the family would be the best for the baby as opposed to giving him up to outsiders. I've been offered a job in Los Angeles that will pay me well so that I could send $1,000 or more each month for support to Marianne and the babies. I would still be baby Eugene's mother and I would be able to visit for birthdays and holidays and when the time is right we would tell him what had happened. I would not interfere in how the babies are raised."

    Everyone was shocked and silent. They looked at each other. Finally Marianne spoke with tears in her eyes; "I can raise both babies and will love them equally. Having you have another chance at a new life, if that is what you want, is what you should have. You are my sister; the same blood is in you as is in me. If things were reversed, I'm sure you would do it for me. I will miss you and I'll always tell the babies of wonderful Aunt Julie. They will always know how wonderful and caring you are. They will love you so."

    As if a decision and an agreement had been reached, Jimmy matter-of-factly said; "We'll have to move… the apartment isn't big enough for raising twins."

    Uncle Gene spoke; "The Monaghan house is for sale and would be big enough. You could rent out the upstairs and with the money Julie will be sending you'll be able to carry it. I'll see if you can get some shifts at the Shamrock for added money. We'll be able to help do it."

    Aunt Pauline still had not spoken though she looked back and forth between Marianne and Julie who were now sitting together, holding hands, and quietly weeping. A thousand scenarios went though her mind and all had their faults. Finally, she looked at Julie and spoke; "Is this what you really want?"
    "It is what is best. I've thought about it, and thought about it, and want what is best for baby Eugene."

    Pauline continued, "You can stay… we can all do more… you don't have to leave… you should be with your baby."

    "Mom… please… this is so hard for me… please help us."

    After Jimmy's parents came over and were told of the situation, the rest of the evening was spent working finances, and dealing with "what ifs" and possibilities.

    The next day Mr. Greewood was again called to provide legal services.

    Uncle Gene found an opportunity to run into Mr. Monaghan and to talk of "How things were going." and on the needs of a growing family. It was a good talk.

    After baby Pauline's first birthday and before Christmas, Marianne, Jimmy and the babies moved into their new home on 58th Street. Their first Christmas, in their new home, was wonderful, but tinged with pending sorrow.

    On the weekend following baby Eugene's first Birthday, Uncle Gene and Aunt Pauline drove Julie to LaGuardia Airport to begin a three-hop trip to Los Angeles. Tears and promises were aplenty and long hugs and kisses followed.



    In the time following their separation, everyone kept to their agreement. The "twins" were dressed alike and their difference in size was explained by saying that baby Eugene was born a little later and was smaller at birth… all true.

    No further questions were asked.



    All the parties properly observed their agreements both formal and informal. The babies thrived, Marianne coped and in a sense became her mother, and Jimmy stepped up and became a father and a man.

    Julie was successful in California working as a set designer and as a back-lot worker. Her earnings were not exceptional but were good enough to support herself and provide the financial commitment she had made to Marianne and the family. She usually made holidays, birthdays and most major family gatherings. When she returned to the east coast she always spent quality time with the children. Each time she left them, there were tears.

    Jimmy ultimately left the Sonoco station and worked up to the position of facilities supervisor for one of the international terminals at JFK. The money was much better and there were good benefits that helped out. No mention need be made of some items falling off a plane and being retrieved and unclaimed and winding up in Jimmy's trunk.

    After five years on 58th Street, and as the neighborhood was changing, Jimmy took his wife and her parents as well as his children to Staten Island to look at new homes that were being snapped up by families moving from Brooklyn. The appeal of newness and of greenery associated with yards had the families buy adjoining houses.



    The life you have is not always the one you may have wished for, but it's what you make of it.

[end] & Copyright by Ken Thompson - 2008.

R. Dansfield Cranston, III - A Secret Past

by Ken Thompson

    I should have known, but how could I?

    He seemed like a nice guy. He was very well dressed, he looked classy and distinguished, he sounded "cultured" but with a mid-west accent, was friendly and outgoing, and seemed to have his stuff together... all good qualities I thought.

    It was the first time I ever met him. I was attending a workshop for "American Writers of the 21st Century" in Phoenix and he was identified as a literary agent, based in Illinois, who was hosting a discussion table for "Publishing for Mere Mortals". Knowing that I should strive up to the level of "mere mortal", I made his table my first stop after registering and grabbing a cup of coffee.

    Have you ever met someone who, right away, you're not too sure about? This was my feeling right after meeting Danf Cranston and shaking his hand but what the hell do I know… I'm not a literary agent based in Illinois. But I did have a feeling.

    After the five of us at the table went around introducing ourselves, Danf gave us some of his credentials that seemed to be centered on his representing authors to "journals and publishers of consequence" so that "histories of the American peoples are captured for all time". I thought there was to be a discussion but it seemed that Danf was in charge, the authority, and we would be listening to him tell us how good he was. He sure did that in detail.

    I guess those striving to be "mere mortals" were supposed to just be seen and not heard.

    He was at first superficially interesting but he began to bore me and then annoy me. He was also boring the other people at the table so when the first break came and we were allowed to change tables, we all took advantage of the situation and left Danf to tell his story to a new group. As the day progressed and with each subsequent break fewer and fewer attendees rotated to Danf's table. Evidently the word got out.

    At the mid-afternoon break when we were supposed to choose one of the subject areas for more in-depth discussion, I saw no one heading to Danf's table. Out of either pity or a feeling of self-debasement, I joined him and he started a one-minute synopsis of "How good I am at what I do." Immediately realizing I had probably made a BIG mistake, I was about to smile and head off to "relieve myself" when he asked me about what the subject matter I was most interested in.

    As I spoke about Brooklyn and some of the specific aspects I was interested in he showed some interest and made some notes on a slip of paper. For the next hour we talked about New York City and Brooklyn and the dynamic changes both had gone through.

    During the chat he indicated he had grown up in New England, attended Columbia University, worked for two big-time publishers and then moved to the mid-west after representing two MAJOR authors of historical fiction and non-fiction books.

    Danf showed a lot of knowledge and facts about Brooklyn and the history of the borough. The level of detail was beyond what I have become to expect from people who have not spent years there. We talked about the Revolutionary War, Prospect Park, Coney Island, Flatbush, the Heights, the bridges, and monuments. It was a good talk and he had some insights I hadn't thought of or been exposed to. When I asked if he had ever heard on BrooklynMemories.com, he said, "Never heard of it."

    When we broke up for the day, I had come to realize that Danf was pretty interesting and knowledgeable on a subject I liked. He was okay in that regard.

    At the evening's cash bar soiree, I smiled, mingled, chatted, and had a few white wines.

    When Danf made his grand-ish entrance, more interest was displayed for his wife than for him. She looked sophisticated and youngish compared to him. Her presence made him much more interesting.

    Through the next half-hour, Danf and she flitted from one small group to another. As he downed Grey Goose Martinis, he became louder. His wife separated herself from him and slipped to the outer rim of the gathering, not far from where I was standing. Since I'm kinda brash and she was attractive, I started a small conversation with her by saying, "Does he know everybody?"

    She turned and noticed me for the first time, hesitated for a second and said, "Not everyone. He'd like to know only the ones who could help him. The rest he doesn't care about."

    I introduced myself and learned her name was Claudine.

    I told her of my discussion with Danf from the afternoon and told her how impressed I was with her husband's knowledge of my hometown, Brooklyn. She said her husband had mentioned in passing speaking to someone from Brooklyn.

    She smiled wryly and ordered another Grey Goose on the rocks from a waiter making rounds.

    When it was delivered, she hesitated reaching for money so I quickly pulled out a ten and handed it over. She gave a "Thank you" without looking at me.

    After another of my attempts at a conversation that got nowhere she turned slightly toward me and continued to look into her drink.

    "He should know about Brooklyn… that's where he grew and went to school. He still has sisters there. After he graduated from Brooklyn College he was only able to get a job as a shipping clerk at the publishing house where I was a copy editor. My family had an interest in the house.

    "Bobby was so different that anyone I had ever met. He was so New York and I was so mid-west. We fell in love and he moved in with me on East 63rd. It was so fun and exciting. There was so much of the city he could show me and I could open to him a whole new level of social activities."

    "He's worked in a lot of jobs in publishing over the years and has done well. Having connections with the owners and their circle of friends surely helps."

    I was a bit confused by all of it so I jumped in. "So Danf is really Bobby?"

    "Oh yes. The R. in his name is for Robert, Cranston is an Anglicanized Kransky, and Dansfield is my mother's maiden name. R. Dansfield Cranston III will get you more business than Bobby Kransky. His bio is pretty true but it does have a heavy spin on it."

    I looked across toward Danf. He was even louder and at the center of a group that seemed both captivated and annoyed by him. I looked back to Claudine who was looking at the bottom of her glass. "He is a literary agent isn't he?" I asked, not knowing where truth and spin begins or ends.
She stopped another waiter to ask for a refill.

    "Yes… but he is very particular about who he takes on as a client. The two primary authors he has represented have connections to my family. They seem pleased for the work he's done. Getting them published wasn't any sort of problem."

    The waiter returned with a new rocks glass for her and I was out another ten. She whispered another "Thank you" toward her glass.

    "Has he ever mentioned BrooklynMemories.com to you?"

    "No. Should he have?"

    "No."


    Danf's group seemed to be fragmenting with some people joining others to head off for dinner. As I watched him look around unsuccessfully for another group to join his eyes reached his wife and they gave a slight toast to one another. He headed in our direction and I had a dilemma … while he was knowledgeable about Brooklyn and might be entertaining, the thought of spending another two hours with him over dinner and then possibly having to pick up the check was too much to bear.

    Quickly I turned to her and said,"Claudine, it was so nice to meet you," I extended my hand, "Hope you and Danf enjoy your time in Phoenix."

    She seemed surprised but said, "Yes… thank you. What was your name again?"

    The next morning I rose early and again avoided the exercise room. I leisurely dressed and went for a light breakfast in one of the hotel's restaurants. As I was being ushered to a table, I passed Danf and another attendee at a table for four. As if I was a long lost college roommate he called me over and had me join them.

    Evidently this was the opportunity Danf's table-mate needed to excuse himself and hurry off.

    Danf rambled on about nothing of interest, as I waited for coffee to be delivered. As soon as it arrived, and I prepared it to my liking, I took the offensive.

    "Your wife told me you're really a Brooklyn boy and have elected to restate your heritage and life to fit a revised image."

    "My wife told me you spoke during the cocktail hour last night." He paused and then continued. "I'm R. Dansfield Cranston III because that is who I want to be. I've worked to become Danf and I succeeded. Most of us dress, behave, and strive to be what we think we want to be. Modifying my name is a branding issue. Highlighting that I attended Columbia is spinning the truth. YOU conclude that I graduated from there though I never said I did. I did, however, attend two writing seminars there."

    We both sipped coffee and Danf pushed around the remnants of a puny Arizona bagel.

    "You seem to downplay your Brooklyn background; do you have a problem with Brooklyn?"

    "No, not at all. It is just not who I am any more. I feel that Brooklyn is a great place to be from. It is in my past just as it is in the past of many successful people. They strive and succeed and where they grew up doesn't get a mention. You don't hear Rudy Guilani proclaiming his Brooklyn heritage but it is there. Could our next President be from Brooklyn?"

    "Maybe it is just that I run into more people who are willing to wear their Brooklyn upbringing on their sleeve. Maybe not to shout about it but at least not to deny it to someone else from Brooklyn."

    "What would you have me do? Wear my Brooklyn Dodger's cap or talk as a stereotypical Brooklynite with "Turdy-turd and turd street"?" You can be whomever you want and I should be allowed to be whomever I want. I don't believe I have harmed you in any way. I'm not sure how our chat has gotten us into a seeming argument so let's just drop it."

    "Okay. I'm sorry I upset you. Would you mind if I let your story out?"

    "Not a problem, if that's what you want. Rest assured, however, that I won't be the one to represent you to publishers."

    "That's okay. I may find some way to let the cat out of the bag."

    "Would you like one of my cards?" Danf said as he reached into his jacket pocket.

    "No, thank you."

[end] & Copyright by Ken Thompson - 2007.

In Honor Of My Mom

by Anonymous

    My Mom died in late November of last year.

    She had lived in a small house in the Flatlands area for over 65 years and was pretty well known there. My sisters and I were born in the house and we attended the local parochial school. We had the type of Brooklyn growing-up experience that was great. The four of us attended high schools nearby and my sisters were married from our parish church. Over time we all moved from the area but not so far that we couldn't come home for holidays and visits.

    My Mom was a stalwart in our Parish. She was in the Altar Society, helped count the weekly collections, was a teacher's aid, was always among the first to donate for any special collections, was both horrified and disbelieving that there were pedophile priests, and was always stuffing a note card "with a little something" for the priest's birthday or anniversary.

    She went to mass three or four times a week and a constant communicant. If she could, she would help the elderly and others make the trip for weekly mass. She loved the church and all it represented. And she felt it loved her. It was an essential part of her family.

    When my father died in 1991, I moved back home to help out and to help make ends meet. I wasn't as dedicated as my Mom to the church but I was in no way an embarrassment either... other than that I was divorced.

    While the neighborhood was "changing", we all felt pretty safe and at home. Ethnicities changed, accents changed, religious orientations seemed to have changed, and the neighborhood became "rougher".

    Another of the changes that was happening was that the older people, my Mom's peers, were leaving... some to live with children and some simply dying. My Mom's old friends were becoming fewer and fewer. The priests that were in the parish when I was growing up were long gone. The newer priests were "new school"... they were different. Maybe it was that there were fewer of them in residence and maybe it was that finances were tighter but they seemed to have different priorities. They were polite but detached from the older parishioners but always seemed to be around at the time of their birthday, ordination anniversary, and Christmas.

    My Mom died of a stoke within two weeks of its occurrence. The priest came to administer "The Anointing of the Sick" to Mom when she was still pretty aware. We didn't see him again until after she passed. My sisters, older grandchildren, and some of our extended family were all around her when she died; praying and speaking calmly and softly to her. She died quietly. If there was a way she wanted to go, this was it.

    The neighborhood funeral home that had handled by Dad's funeral was in a new generation's hands (with less of the original family involved) and was to handle my Mom's. She had made plans and selections some years prior so it was pretty easy for us. The florist closest to the church was contracted to handle the casket spray and four baskets. We knew they could do a good job since Mom had used them many times for friends in the parish who had preceded her in death.

    The schedule was for two night of viewings followed by a mass and then internment in Holy Cross Cemetery alongside my Father.

    To this point everything seemed smooth and then things got bumpy.

    My sisters, their husbands, older children and I got to the funeral home early to have a final quiet moment with Mom.

    The first problem was that the room directory had mixed up the room numbers for Mom and the other deceased. The manager on duty apologized and quickly made the correction.

    Maureen, my oldest sister, went in to see Mom first and immediately came out with a pained look on her face and pulled me aside.

    "There's no spray on the casket!"

    "What?"

    "Go look for yourself!"

    I went in and she was right. There were the four baskets we ordered (looking too Thanksgiving Day-ish for a funeral) plus some others but no spray on the casket. I immediately went outside and called the florist. They said the spray had been delivered and asked if we had checked the other rooms. I hung up and went to check but my Mom's spray was not found. I called the florist and told them. They said they would have someone over ASAP.

    The first night of the viewing had no spray on the casket but had my Mom's well worn rosary beads entwined around a single red rose and crucifix. No one even mentioned it. It looked simple and beautiful.

    The next morning I called the florist and told them to cancel the spray and credit my Visa. They said they couldn't do that since they had delivered the first spray and were making a second one as a courtesy to the funeral home. I told them I didn't want it and to just credit the Visa. They said it couldn't be done. I just hung up.

    That evening no spray had been delivered.

    The Rosary that was planned for the second evening did not go well. Instead of the priest to lead it, a woman from the parish office showed up. When I asked where the priest was, she said he had a short notice dinner engagement. My sisters and I had put up with all this 'cause we live in a "changed world" and neighborhood and in honor of our Mom.

    We didn't get as many visitors as we expected but the primary friends of Mom showed up.

    On the morning of the burial, as we were waiting in the church entranceway for everyone to line up, the priest came through a side door... he was reading The News, he seemed distracted. When I told him that my sister Maureen and I would like to say a few words either at the Gospel of at the end of the service he said that it couldn't be done. I mentioned that it was done when my father died and it wasn't an issue then and he looked at me square in the eyed and said "I wasn't here then, and it won't be done from my church." He turned away... I was dismissed. I was annoyed that he referred to it as "my church", not mine or the parishioners'. As far I was concerned he was now simply "hired help". I let it ride but I was steaming.

    I don't know if I was in shock or in mega-rage; either way I was speechless. When I finally calmed down a little, I told my sisters to have their husbands block rolling out the casket at the end of the service.

    The service was done quickly, and I thought coldly. The homily was heavy handed religious rhetoric to do the here-after, losing salvation, and financial support to the church... just about nothing to do with my Mom and all she had done for the Parish or the community. I think there were two passing references to her and none by name.

    As the service ended and my Mon was to be rolled out to the hearse, the husbands blocked the way. I stood up and asked that everyone sit down for a moment. The priest turned and glared at me. He quick stepped into my face and said, "You can't do this. Leave now!"

    I turned to the people in the pews and said, "Father has to leave now on very important business. My sister Barbara will be leading the service at the cemetery. Maureen has a few words to say now."

    Father stamped off. That was okay with me.

    Maureen spoke for five minutes about what our Mom meant to the family and how she was the glue that guided us and kept us to together. She did an excellent job. My mother would have been so proud. When she was done I spoke about our Mom and what she meant to the parish and the parishioners over the years.

    Mom would have been less proud of my bragging but I just want people reminded of who she was to the community.

    Just as I was finishing, the priest came back into the church with the custodian right behind him. When he saw that we were lining up to leave he stopped in his track. He wasn't smiling.
    We filed out and went on to Holy Cross where Barbara did some readings, gave a blessing, and led us in a decade of the rosary. We stayed until the casket was lowered and they began back-filling.

    Afterwards, there were about thirty of us, mostly family, who went to a late lunch. It didn't take long for us to loosen up and start telling "Mom" stories. She had heard them all before and smiled and laughed with us and this time she did again. The new "Mom" story was about the jerk that stole the casket spray and probably gave it is girlfriend telling her it's because "I was thinking about you."

    When Mom's Will was read there were no real surprises except for what was addressed that evening when the parish Priest called...

    "I hope your misunderstanding at the mass for your Mother won't cause any problems."

    "Whatta you mean?" I replied with feigned stupidity.

    "I understand that your family's house was left to us when she died. That was what she had indicated to my predecessor anyway. I hope we can make it happen easily. We would like to sell it."

    "Well it is partly true. The house is to go to the parish after she dies... if no one in the family wants to live there."

    "Yes, but all the family has homes elsewhere. Even you own a home on Far Rockaway. I'm sure you'll want to return there."

    "That house is occupied by my ex-wife, I'm sure she doesn't want me back. I'm planning on staying in my Mom's house for the time being. I have a lot to thinking to do."

    "That wasn't your Mom's intent... she wanted it to go to the parish now! You are going against her will... she would be ashamed of you." He was almost yelling!

    "Don't go there... remember how you treated her the last time she was in YOUR church. Read the will... if you go after the house, I'll go public with my side. You'll be a major embarrassment to yourself and the church."

    He slammed the phone down.

    It shouldn't have been this way. Of all the things that should go well is the burying of a loved one from where the are well known. My Mom always went out of her way to comfort a grieving family by trying to make whatever she could go smoothly... bringing food, lending a shoulder to cry on, tidying up, etc.

    My Mom deserved her funeral to go smoothly.


    ------------


    Nothing is resolved. The florist hasn't issued a credit saying they did deliver and were willing to supply a replacement -- gratis. The funeral home says it is not responsible for the flowers since there is no proof that they were actually delivered. The two of them aren't working well with each other. The priest and/or parish have retained a lawyer arguing that the wording of the will is ambiguous and not consistent with what the parish expected... or something like that.

    I often read and hear that my Brooklyn is changing and is marked by changes in ethnicity, race, and religion. The way I see it is that there are greater changes of lesser dimension that are impacting the older and elderly. A friend tells me there are thousands upon thousands of ex-Brooklyn-ites in Florida regretting their move and yearning to be back.

    If only they knew... they'd think twice about wanting "to go home".

[end] & Copyright by Ken Thompson - 2007.

Uncle Henry's Christmas

by Ken Thompson

"Fer Christ's sake, leave me alone. I bring home money when I can. There ain't no work. The gadamn wops are given all the work to their own. Even the Union Steward can't get me on. It's not like it usta be; it's not fair, not a bit."

"He told you that if you don't show up there's nothin' he can do. It's your own fault, you messed up and you're blaming it on everyone else. You said we'd have some money for Christmas for things for the children but you spent in on horses and drink. We'll just about have nothing for them again."

"Shut up, ya bitch... Ya brother will probably bring something over for us. He'll probably give me a lecture too. He's a gadamn sonovabitch. We should be callin' him Saint Kevin. Get me a beer."

"Get it yourself... you're not a cripple."

Henry was always angry and had started the day drinking as he did every day... at breakfast. It was now 4 pm on the 24th and Aunt Eileen knew that it wasn't going to be a good Christmas... not at all. It was gonna be like all the others... little joy, few gifts, and bad memories for years to come.

As Henry got up from the small kitchen table to get his beer he continued to mumble under his breath. As he passed Eileen peeling potatoes, he gave her a hard smack on her shoulder... not a slap but not a punch either... just enough to push her off balance and to leave the start a bad bruise on her small body. As she stumbled she swung back at him with her hand holding a potato. He easily stepped away but came back with an overhand punch that caught her right at her nose and corner of her mouth. Blood trickled from her nose and cut lip and she grabbed for a dish towel to stem the flow. Tears of both physical pain and the hurt of a bad marriage welled in her eyes. She did everything she could to hold them back but they ran down her face.

He stood there, sneering at her with his fist cocked to deliver another manly blow. "Say one fuckin' word and you'll get another."

Eileen said nothing. She knew that him hitting her when he'd been drinking was the only way he could feel superior in a world that seemed to see no value in him. She pressed the towel to her face and just looked at him. As she turned back to the potatoes, he opened the refrigerator and took the last beer.

"There's no more beer," he announced. "You have any money for some?"

She shook her head "No".

"You got paid Wednesday, where's the money?"

"I bought groceries and paid our account. They wouldn't extend us anymore credit. I bought one small Christmas gift for each of the children and there's about $8 left. She paused, "You were supposed to get the Christmas tree."

"Gimme the money and I'll go get a damn tree."

Eileen knew she couldn't go out with her face swollen. Though she hated him right then, she had to trust him to do the right thing at least once in awhile. She went into the bedroom and took $6 from where she had hidden it. As she handed it over she said, "Get a good tree but not too big. Be home by seven so we can set up the tree for the children. Kevin is bringing them back around eight. I kept $2 for bus fare to work.

Henry grabbed the money and made a quick motion as if to swing at her again. As she flinched, he laughed loudly, grabbed his coat and left slamming the door.

Eileen sat at the kitchen and softly wept into the dish towel. After a few minutes she regained her composure and finished the potatoes. She straightened up, tried to fix her face, and got out the few Christmas decorations she had. If it were only her son, Hank, she would not even bother but the twin girls, Erin and Irene, still believed and visited Santa at A&S, though they were in the fourth grade. This would surely be the last year for this belief.

Seven o'clock came and went and Henry was not backed. Eileen knew that he always ran late but hoped he would be back by eight to she could at least stand the tree in the corner where it would be decorated after the girls went to sleep. At eight there was no Henry nor tree. She would have to make up a story for the girls about Santa bringing it.

At 8:30, Eileen's brother Kevin and the twins, as well as Kevin's daughter Sheila could be heard climbing the stairs and singing "Deck the Halls". As they entered the apartment, the girls laughed and giggled and kissed Eileen and went into the girls room to play with dolls.

Kevin looked around and them more closely at Eileen Morrison and saw the bruises. She turned aside and he said nothing. He took off his coat and sat at the kitchen table. His sister brought him a tea without a saucer.

He took a sip and then stirred the tea to cool it off a bit. "Where's Henry?" he asked with total distain in his voice.

"Oh he went out to buy a Christmas tree. He's just running late."

"Is he coming back?"

She looked at him hard. "He'll be back when he has the tree."

"Those bruises look new."

"Those things happen. He's going through a tough time," she turned and looked away.

"It's not good. You shouldn't let him...

She stopped him in mid-sentence. "What am I going to do? I need the little money he brings in to make ends meet. He needs me too. When he's not drinking he's sweet and caring. It's just...

He's a mean, no good bastard. You had the priest speak to him... how did that go?"

Henry just lied to him... told him what he thought Father wanted to hear. All the same stuff every time 'I'm sorry... I'll do better... I'll come to church.' He gives a mocking smile as he leaves."

They sat slowly sipping their tea. At 9, when Hank walked in there was still no Henry. Eileen would glance at the empty space in the corner waiting for the arrival of a tree.

No one had to explain anything to Hank Morrison; he knew exactly what was going on. He emptied his pockets on the table of the money he had gotten as tips at the Buddy's Luncheonette and pushed it towards his Mom. All she could do was give a faint but embarrassed smile. He went in to see the girls playing and then returned to the table for his cup of tea. They sat in the quiet.

At 9:30 Kevin spoke, "Let me and Nora keep the girls tonight. You can get some rest and wait up for Henry. You can handle it however you want."

Eileen looked at Kevin and then at Hank who had his eyes cast down. "Could you? I'll come get them early tomorrow for church. I have a few Santa presents that you can put under the tree for them. I don't know what I'd do without you and Nora."

Eileen and Hank bundled up the kids and clothes and presents and made a big deal of them going to stay over at Aunt Nora's. The girls looked both bewildered and surprised but went along with it. While they were young and innocent, they had seen too much already in their lives.

Alone in the apartment, mother and son looked at each other and Hank asked, "What do we do?"

"We find him and make sure he's okay."

They bundled themselves up and headed out. They checked the local bars on 4th Avenue but with no success. No one even said Henry had been around. They moved up an avenue and again came up blank. Most all the stores were already closed... even some of the bars.

Talk between the two of them was minimal. Out of nowhere Hank said, "Maybe he just had to go further to get a tree." All Eileen could do was nod agreement.

When they finally reached Uncle Gene's Shamrock Bar a little after 11, it was pretty empty except for some regulars and Henry Morrison; asleep at a table in the back. Gene had stopped drafting beers for him but made him stay in the Shamrock.

Evidently Kevin had left the children with Nora and was making the rounds of the bars and had found Henry stumbling along the 5th Avenue. Failing to talk any sense into Henry, Kevin took him to the Shamrock for the protection of Henry and for the protection of Eileen.

Eileen, Hank and Gene stood not far from Henry's table and tried to speak non-judgmentally about the situation. Eileen chose to take Henry back to their apartment and let him sleep it off. Gene asked one of the customers who was about to leave to drive the family the fifteen blocks to their apartment and, in the spirit of Christmas, he agreed.

As Eileen started to rustle Henry from his sleep, Hank noticed a smallish, decorated Christmas tree near the very back of the bar. Hank explained the tree situation and Gene said that since the tree was only lit when there was a Christmas party going on he would be getting rid of it pretty soon since it was pretty dry and was undergoing "serious" needle loss. Hank asked if he could have it for Erin and Irene and Gene said, "Sure."

As Henry was coming to, he was unruly and foul mouthed; not a surprise to anyone there. He staggered to his feet and took a swing at Eileen and missed. Hank rushed him, grabbed the front of his coat and slammed him into the wall. As if they had practiced before, Gene stepped forward and swept Henry feet from under him and he went down on his rump in a lump. He seemed to shudder and threw up over himself. Sitting on the floor there, he passed out.

Eileen was again weeping. Gene looked at Henry, Hank, and then Eileen and said, I'll lock him in an empty storage room for the night and have John let him out when he comes to open up in the morning. He'll sleep it off and be okay.

Looking down at his father, Hank said to no one in particular in a low voice, "I hate him, he's a piece of shit. All he is is now".

Gene and Hank pulled Henry to the storage room and got him out of his fouled coat. They laid him down and covered him with two blankets. Gene left the light on in the room and locked it from the outside. As Gene was clearing the bar and cleaning up he made tea for Eileen and Hank and they just chatted and even tried to laugh a little.

When the "volunteer" drive finished his beer he motioned to Gene and Eileen got her coat on. Hank didn't move but said to his mother, "I'll be 15 minutes behind you. When you get home make some tea for us." Eileen wasn't sure what was going on but had trust in Hank.

When Eileen had left, Hank asked for the key to the storage room. Gene just looked and said, "Don't do anything stupid", as he handed it over.

In the room, alone with his father, Hank spoke in a firm low voice. He spoke of his Mom, the girls, the heartache and pain, the disappointment and shattered dreams. He paused and stepped towards his father. In a fast, deliberate motion he stomped as hard as he could on his father's right hand and said, "Don't you ever hit Mom again."

Henry winced and quickly drew the hand back toward his body. He was still out-of-it and remained asleep.

Gene had wrapped the Christmas tree in an old blanket and as Hank finished locking the storage room Gene put the tree in his arms. In silence they walked toward the front door of the bar and Gene opened it to let Hank out.

Just outside the door Hank turned and said, "Thanks Uncle Gene... for everything. Someday I hope I can repay you."

"It's okay. Just be a good man and take care of your Mom and the girls."

They exchanged small smiles and Gene said "Merry Christmas."

When Hank got to the apartment, his Mom had the tea on and had put out some cookies. Hank put the tree in the corner and plugged the lights in. Eileen took her ornaments and put them on the tree. It was Christmas.

It was about 3 when Eileen finally got to bed and Hank fell asleep on the coach.

At seven she woke him and said, "Get dressed. I'll call Nora and we'll meet them and the girls at church. I laid out some clean clothes for you to take to the Shamrock," She paused and then continued, "Thanks for the help last night. I love you and don't know what I'd do without you." They hugged.

As Hank went to the bathroom to shower, shave and get dressed; Eileen went across the street to the pay phone at the ESSO garage to call Nora. When they had a chance they sat and had tea with some cake. Eileen gave Hank a sweater for Christmas and Hank gave her a card with about $100 in bills in it.

Hank and Eileen put the few presents they had for the girls and Henry under the tree.

When Hank got to the Shamrock, Henry was sitting at the bar with a cup of coffee in front of him. He was somewhat cleaned up but was shallow and shaky. His right hand was wrapped in a bar towel with ice. John was mopping the floor and out of earshot. Hank put the clothes he brought on the bar and said, "We're going to mass and then to Kevin's for breakfast. We'll be home around 2. Mom has a small ham to put on. If you're not going to make it a good day for the girls, then don't come home.

"Pretty uppity and judgmental aren't you. Look what happened to my hand; I may never be able to use it again."

"And don't hit Mom again; another accident may happen to ya."

Ignoring his son's remark, Henry said, "I'll be good for the girls. I'll be home 'round 3. Do ya have a fiver to get me one small drink for Christmas?"

Hank took out his wallet with maybe $8 in it and took out 5 singles. He called John over and gave him the $5 and told him it was for coffee only and maybe a sandwich for his father.

Henry sneered and said to Hank, "Ya little bastard... actin' so high and mighty and denying me a Christmas drink. Merry Christmas to you ya little fucker.

Hank just turned and left the Shamrock on this most unpleasant of Christmas days without saying another word.


Henry didn't come home that Christmas till 10 pm and was quite drunk having bummed drinks in honor of the birth of God's son, the savior of the world, and his banged-up hand.




[end] © Copyright by Ken Thompson - 2006 (Revised 03-2008).