When Doc III, Dork, and I returned to the large building in our swimming suits, only Mother and Crazy Annie sat at the picnic table. Dad or Mr. Shegonee weren’t there. I held on to the rear of my swimming trunks because of the hole. Nobody seemed to notice. Good. "Where's Dad?" I was the first to ask.
"Yes,“ said Dork, "where is Father?"
Mother shook her head. "Your father's causing a scene in the tavern."
"Is Father drunk?" asked Dork.
"Most likely," said Doc III.
"I don't think so," Mother answered, "but I'm certain he's going to get into trouble. I feel it in my bones."
"What's his major problem this time?" pursued Doc III.
"Your father's angry because the bartender won't serve Mr. Shegonee. I want you kids to go in there and get your father to come back to this picnic table. Right now." Then, she added, "Please."
We three Hoffman boys made our way into the tavern. And we weren't too eager to do so. The music was awfully loud. The Andrews Sisters were singing "Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy" on the jukebox.
And the scene didn't look inviting, I'll tell you. The bartender's nose was inches from Dad's nose. The bartender almost yelled, "If I told you once, I told you ten times, we don't serve no liquor or beer or wine to no Indians."
"But he's a war hero," Dad replied with equal vigor. (Vigor's a word I learned this week from the Reader's Digest "Word Power" page. It means "strength").
Dad next asked the bartender, "I wonder. Did you serve in the war?"
The bartender shook his head. "No, I did not," he said, adding, "I was 4-F, flat feet."
"Well, this man," Dad said, "this Indian you won't serve, was awarded the Silver Star for bravery."
"I don't care if he was awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor," shot back the bartender. "He's an Indian. And we don't serve no Indians."
"I'm going to contact the authorities," said Dad. He stood and left the barstool he sat on and strode to the payphone booth in the corner. After he closed the booth's door, I watched him drop coins into the payphone. Dad did plenty of talking before he hung up. Finally, he opened the payphone booth's door and returned to the bar. "The Waushara County Sheriff is sending a deputy out here."
The bartender grinned. "You called the county boys, huh? I'll have you know they're my best friends," he shot back.
"Even if they are, I'm certain they'll uphold the law," retorted Dad.
"Hah, you'll see that I’m the law in this place," snarled the man behind the bar.
We three boys stood there for a long time without saying a word. And Dad said nothing to us. Neither did Mr. Shegonee. The time it took for a lawman to show up seemed like forever.
Finally, a black Ford with a red light on its roof arrived. A police officer dressed in a tan uniform with badge and gun got out of the Waushara County squad car.
I watched Mother as she stood. Fingers flew to her lower lip. I figured she must've thought the sheriff's deputy was going to arrest Dad.
The lawman walked by Mother and Crazy Annie's table and into the tavern where we stood.
"Hey there, Will. How they hanging?" greeted the bartender.
The deputy smiled. "Two in a bunch. As usual, Ralph."
Oh, oh, I thought. Dad's in big trouble. The deputy and the bartender are good friends.
"Those two are troublemakers," said the bartender, pointing to Dad and Mr. Shegonee.
The deputy turned to face Dad and Mr. Shegonee. All of a sudden, the deputy's eyes seemed to double in size. He appeared as if he had just seen a ghost as he spouted profanely, "Jesus H. Kuh-rist—"
"Yes,“ said Dork, "where is Father?"
Mother shook her head. "Your father's causing a scene in the tavern."
"Is Father drunk?" asked Dork.
"Most likely," said Doc III.
"I don't think so," Mother answered, "but I'm certain he's going to get into trouble. I feel it in my bones."
"What's his major problem this time?" pursued Doc III.
"Your father's angry because the bartender won't serve Mr. Shegonee. I want you kids to go in there and get your father to come back to this picnic table. Right now." Then, she added, "Please."
We three Hoffman boys made our way into the tavern. And we weren't too eager to do so. The music was awfully loud. The Andrews Sisters were singing "Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy" on the jukebox.
And the scene didn't look inviting, I'll tell you. The bartender's nose was inches from Dad's nose. The bartender almost yelled, "If I told you once, I told you ten times, we don't serve no liquor or beer or wine to no Indians."
"But he's a war hero," Dad replied with equal vigor. (Vigor's a word I learned this week from the Reader's Digest "Word Power" page. It means "strength").
Dad next asked the bartender, "I wonder. Did you serve in the war?"
The bartender shook his head. "No, I did not," he said, adding, "I was 4-F, flat feet."
"Well, this man," Dad said, "this Indian you won't serve, was awarded the Silver Star for bravery."
"I don't care if he was awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor," shot back the bartender. "He's an Indian. And we don't serve no Indians."
"I'm going to contact the authorities," said Dad. He stood and left the barstool he sat on and strode to the payphone booth in the corner. After he closed the booth's door, I watched him drop coins into the payphone. Dad did plenty of talking before he hung up. Finally, he opened the payphone booth's door and returned to the bar. "The Waushara County Sheriff is sending a deputy out here."
The bartender grinned. "You called the county boys, huh? I'll have you know they're my best friends," he shot back.
"Even if they are, I'm certain they'll uphold the law," retorted Dad.
"Hah, you'll see that I’m the law in this place," snarled the man behind the bar.
We three boys stood there for a long time without saying a word. And Dad said nothing to us. Neither did Mr. Shegonee. The time it took for a lawman to show up seemed like forever.
Finally, a black Ford with a red light on its roof arrived. A police officer dressed in a tan uniform with badge and gun got out of the Waushara County squad car.
I watched Mother as she stood. Fingers flew to her lower lip. I figured she must've thought the sheriff's deputy was going to arrest Dad.
The lawman walked by Mother and Crazy Annie's table and into the tavern where we stood.
"Hey there, Will. How they hanging?" greeted the bartender.
The deputy smiled. "Two in a bunch. As usual, Ralph."
Oh, oh, I thought. Dad's in big trouble. The deputy and the bartender are good friends.
"Those two are troublemakers," said the bartender, pointing to Dad and Mr. Shegonee.
The deputy turned to face Dad and Mr. Shegonee. All of a sudden, the deputy's eyes seemed to double in size. He appeared as if he had just seen a ghost as he spouted profanely, "Jesus H. Kuh-rist—"