Hi, Diary. It's Gordy.
There I was, sitting next to a bum on our front stairs because Mother ordered me to stay with him while she warmed leftovers in the oven so she could get a jewelry box for five dollars instead of ten. He placed the bottle of Hires root beer I brought to him on the stair below the one on which we sat. "Now, don't kick it," he warned me.
"I won't," I promised. "Are you a bum?"
His head snapped. I was certain his eyes burned with the flames of hell. "Never," he roared. "Never would I wish to be called a bum. If you was a man, it would be a fighting word. Me, I'm a Bo, that's what, short for hobo. To earn money, we work at jobs nobody else would do. Or some of us whittle things, like my tramp art. That's why folks call us tramps. We prefer to be called Bo's, but never, ever bums. They're garbage, beg for food, steal from everyone, including from other bums. Some do things to children that no man should ever do. We turn them into the cops. Cops know the difference between a bum and a Bo. We don't beg. We don't steal. We respect cops and try to be gentlemen all the time. Now, don't get me wrong. We won't turn down free eats if they're offered."
"So, why did you stop here to sell your stuff?"
"Because of what's scratched into your curb, a caduceus."
"Ka-dook-us. What's that?"
"It's a straight pole with two snakes wrapped around it. They face each other at the top. Above them is a pair of wings, ready to take flight. It means a sawbones lives here."
"How do you spell it?"
"Don't know. I only went as far as the third grade. After that, I helped Pa with farm chores. It means the sawbones who lives here treats Bo's for free."
"My dad does that?"
"If your pa's a sawbones, he takes care of whatever ails Bo's, free of charge, no questions asked, no answers given."
"Here you are," said the voice behind us, which belonged to Mother. "It's hot." She carried a large serving plate, filled with food. She also brought a cloth napkin. "Gordon, would you open the door?"
"Let me," said the Bo. He rose and accepted the plate, spoon, fork, and napkin from Mother.
"I'm going to go look at that ka-dook-us," I told them.
"Whatever are you talking about, Gordon?" asked Mother.
"This is quite a spread," said the Bo. "Thank you, Ma'am." He sat down carefully, put the napkin on his lap and then the plate of food on the napkin. After he swallowed his first bite, he went, "Ummmm-ummmm, this is delicious, Ma'am."
"I'll go get your money." Mother disappeared into the house.
"Go ahead and look," he told me.
What I found was an almost picture, scraped into the curb by spike or nail or maybe jackknife blade. I returned to the stairs. "You have to have quite an imagination to see what you say is there, Mister."
"You certainly are a smart young man with a lot of questions but no sense of fine art." He stabbed a chunk of meatloaf and dipped it into gravy, opened his mouth and plunked the meat into it.
"My teacher said the only dumb question is the one that wasn't asked."
"I'll betcha she wasn't talking about you." Now, it was my turn to laugh. "This is delicious. Your ma is a fine cook. Well, I'm gonna stop talking for a bit until I'm finished." True to his word, he ate everything on the plate and downed the entire bottle of root beer. Finally, at the same time he finished, Mother was at the door.
"Here's your money."
He opened the door and accepted the five-dollar bill. "Thank you, Ma’am." Putting the plate on a stair, he reached into his gray sack and pulled out the jewelry box. He handed it to Mother.
"I'm going to keep it on the dresser in our bedroom."
He reached into the bag and pulled out a picture frame. "You can have this as a bonus."
"Why, thank you, Sir."
"Julius," he said.
"Thank you, Julius," said Mother. "That's a nice man's name."
"Sure is, Ma'am. Carried it with me all my life."
"I'm going to take these things inside now. Gordon will take the plate and napkin into the kitchen."
Which I did. When I returned, Julius was already on the sidewalk, holding onto his gray bag, preparing to leave. "I wish you could stay and talk some more."
"Can't. I got to get going and do more selling. If you got any more questions, hold 'em. You know where the railroad tracks are by that school over yonder?" He pointed in the direction of Irving school.
"Yes."
"Well, pass by that school and take a right at the next road. Don’t go down the hill to the tracks. Instead, go three city blocks and you'll see a big empty field on the left. Cross that field toward the tracks. There'll be a woods down below. That's what us Bo's call our jungle. That's where I live when I'm in your town. You ask anyone there about Julius, they'll know me. Bo's everywhere know me. But stay away from bums, you hear?"
"How will I know the difference?"
"You'll know. You're a smart kid."
After he left, I went to my bedroom and searched for the word in my Thorndike. No way. So, I asked our elegant lady librarian if she ever heard of word, "Ka-dook-us. It’s symbolized by a pole with two snakes wrapped around it. They face each other on top and above them is a pair of wings. It means a doctor?"
"Or anything medical,” she added. “I think you mean Ka-deuce-ee-us," she said.
"Could you spell it for me?"
"I could, but why don't you sound it out and spell it yourself?" Her smile was so pleasant and her voice so soft, it almost made me feel good and sleepy. I got as far as the first letter. "What's another letter that sounds like a K?" she asked.
"A hard c?"
"Continue."
"C-a-d-u-c-e-u-s" I spelled out.
The next morning, Paul and Glen Peterson and I headed our bikes to what Paul said was "Bum's Jungle." I told him Julius, who had mispronounced caduceus as ka-dook-us would prefer to call it Hobo's Jungle, instead.
There I was, sitting next to a bum on our front stairs because Mother ordered me to stay with him while she warmed leftovers in the oven so she could get a jewelry box for five dollars instead of ten. He placed the bottle of Hires root beer I brought to him on the stair below the one on which we sat. "Now, don't kick it," he warned me.
"I won't," I promised. "Are you a bum?"
His head snapped. I was certain his eyes burned with the flames of hell. "Never," he roared. "Never would I wish to be called a bum. If you was a man, it would be a fighting word. Me, I'm a Bo, that's what, short for hobo. To earn money, we work at jobs nobody else would do. Or some of us whittle things, like my tramp art. That's why folks call us tramps. We prefer to be called Bo's, but never, ever bums. They're garbage, beg for food, steal from everyone, including from other bums. Some do things to children that no man should ever do. We turn them into the cops. Cops know the difference between a bum and a Bo. We don't beg. We don't steal. We respect cops and try to be gentlemen all the time. Now, don't get me wrong. We won't turn down free eats if they're offered."
"So, why did you stop here to sell your stuff?"
"Because of what's scratched into your curb, a caduceus."
"Ka-dook-us. What's that?"
"It's a straight pole with two snakes wrapped around it. They face each other at the top. Above them is a pair of wings, ready to take flight. It means a sawbones lives here."
"How do you spell it?"
"Don't know. I only went as far as the third grade. After that, I helped Pa with farm chores. It means the sawbones who lives here treats Bo's for free."
"My dad does that?"
"If your pa's a sawbones, he takes care of whatever ails Bo's, free of charge, no questions asked, no answers given."
"Here you are," said the voice behind us, which belonged to Mother. "It's hot." She carried a large serving plate, filled with food. She also brought a cloth napkin. "Gordon, would you open the door?"
"Let me," said the Bo. He rose and accepted the plate, spoon, fork, and napkin from Mother.
"I'm going to go look at that ka-dook-us," I told them.
"Whatever are you talking about, Gordon?" asked Mother.
"This is quite a spread," said the Bo. "Thank you, Ma'am." He sat down carefully, put the napkin on his lap and then the plate of food on the napkin. After he swallowed his first bite, he went, "Ummmm-ummmm, this is delicious, Ma'am."
"I'll go get your money." Mother disappeared into the house.
"Go ahead and look," he told me.
What I found was an almost picture, scraped into the curb by spike or nail or maybe jackknife blade. I returned to the stairs. "You have to have quite an imagination to see what you say is there, Mister."
"You certainly are a smart young man with a lot of questions but no sense of fine art." He stabbed a chunk of meatloaf and dipped it into gravy, opened his mouth and plunked the meat into it.
"My teacher said the only dumb question is the one that wasn't asked."
"I'll betcha she wasn't talking about you." Now, it was my turn to laugh. "This is delicious. Your ma is a fine cook. Well, I'm gonna stop talking for a bit until I'm finished." True to his word, he ate everything on the plate and downed the entire bottle of root beer. Finally, at the same time he finished, Mother was at the door.
"Here's your money."
He opened the door and accepted the five-dollar bill. "Thank you, Ma’am." Putting the plate on a stair, he reached into his gray sack and pulled out the jewelry box. He handed it to Mother.
"I'm going to keep it on the dresser in our bedroom."
He reached into the bag and pulled out a picture frame. "You can have this as a bonus."
"Why, thank you, Sir."
"Julius," he said.
"Thank you, Julius," said Mother. "That's a nice man's name."
"Sure is, Ma'am. Carried it with me all my life."
"I'm going to take these things inside now. Gordon will take the plate and napkin into the kitchen."
Which I did. When I returned, Julius was already on the sidewalk, holding onto his gray bag, preparing to leave. "I wish you could stay and talk some more."
"Can't. I got to get going and do more selling. If you got any more questions, hold 'em. You know where the railroad tracks are by that school over yonder?" He pointed in the direction of Irving school.
"Yes."
"Well, pass by that school and take a right at the next road. Don’t go down the hill to the tracks. Instead, go three city blocks and you'll see a big empty field on the left. Cross that field toward the tracks. There'll be a woods down below. That's what us Bo's call our jungle. That's where I live when I'm in your town. You ask anyone there about Julius, they'll know me. Bo's everywhere know me. But stay away from bums, you hear?"
"How will I know the difference?"
"You'll know. You're a smart kid."
After he left, I went to my bedroom and searched for the word in my Thorndike. No way. So, I asked our elegant lady librarian if she ever heard of word, "Ka-dook-us. It’s symbolized by a pole with two snakes wrapped around it. They face each other on top and above them is a pair of wings. It means a doctor?"
"Or anything medical,” she added. “I think you mean Ka-deuce-ee-us," she said.
"Could you spell it for me?"
"I could, but why don't you sound it out and spell it yourself?" Her smile was so pleasant and her voice so soft, it almost made me feel good and sleepy. I got as far as the first letter. "What's another letter that sounds like a K?" she asked.
"A hard c?"
"Continue."
"C-a-d-u-c-e-u-s" I spelled out.
The next morning, Paul and Glen Peterson and I headed our bikes to what Paul said was "Bum's Jungle." I told him Julius, who had mispronounced caduceus as ka-dook-us would prefer to call it Hobo's Jungle, instead.