After Christmas vacation that year, Miss Leverence, our fifth grade teacher at Howe School Annex, stood behind the new girl and placed both hands on the girl's shoulders. "Class, this is Lynn Manley. Would you please welcome your new classmate?"
We applauded, especially the boys. Lynn kind of looked like the teenage actress Elizabeth Taylor in "National Velvet." Dark hair and rosy cheeks, she had eyes that reminded me of a whitetail fawn's. Not as large. Almost, though. And whenever she smiled with her brilliant white teeth, I'd say to myself, "When you brush your teeth with Pepsodent, you wonder where the yellow went."
Larry, her older brother, had an unusual nose. Mother called it a button nose. Me, I said it was a "pig's snout."
"You're disgusting, sometimes, Gordy."
Larry and Dork were students in the same grade and became regular pals. Which was reason enough for me to avoid Lynn. Besides, she was a girl. She and Larry lived with their mother in a rental house on the northeast end of Eleventh Street, as close to the Old Grove as anyone could get except for the Billmeyers across the street. Their backyard was the beginning of the Old Grove's west side.
Lynn's mother was really different. Divorced, she chain smoked at least a pack of Lucky Strikes a day, drank beer from the bottle, and cussed like a sailor. Mother didn't approve of divorce, smoking, women drinking, or cussing. Those were precisely the reasons I liked Mrs. Manley.
Lynn was standing on the front porch, dressed in summer clothes. "Aren't you cold?" I shouted.
"No," Lynn shot back. A second later, she crossed her arms in front of her, hunched her shoulders, and added, "It is rather cold, I guess. Where you guys going?"
"Is that your girlfriend?" asked Bobby, snickering.
"No," I whispered.
Bobby pointed to the Old Grove and answered Lynn. "There."
"Wha'cha gonna do?"
I made believe I was smoking by lifting my index and middle fingers to my lips. I inhaled smoke and blew smoke rings.
That's when her mother opened the front door and came out on the porch. "Jesus H. Kuh-rist, Lynn, what in the hell are you doing out here without a coat on?"
A moment later, Lynn disappeared into her rental house.
Bobby and I laughed a long time. “Her mom’s something else, isn’t she?”
“She sure is.”
In no time at all, Bobby and I were on the main path that led to the Old Grove's steep hill. When it wasn't snowing, Cat Lickers attending Saints Peter and Paul Catholic grade school would take a shortcut down the hill. During winter, just about every kid on our side of the river slid down that hill on sleds, cardboard pieces, and toboggans. Only Louie Abler's older brothers went down the hill on a bobsled. And could they go.
There was nobody, not even Jimmy Kell, who could go faster on a sled than I. But I had to carry my sled and run like heck before I belly flopped on Flexible Flyer, grabbed both its handles and went lickety-split down that hill. Also, nobody could go as far as my sled that I called "Flex." Sometimes, Flex and I ended up running over cattails in the marsh, which was quite a way from the hill's bottom.
This was only October and we had no snow. Yet. A quarter of the way down the hill, Bobby made a sharp turn to the east. I followed. It was on a path, but not easily recognized by kids not at home with the Old Grove.
Slightly above this particular path was where Dork and I had laid Bones, our poisoned pet dog. I had often stopped to just look at Bones. For a very long time, he wore his black coat. Eventually, that was gone. Later, it looked like he was smiling because we laid him on his side and his teeth were now showing. Later, I don't know what happened but not even his teeth were there.
* * *
"It's because he's in heaven," I explained to Crazy Annie when she asked me about Bones' disappearance.
"How do you know he's in heaven? He barked like crazy. And he dug up Fahls' garden. Chased after Mrs. Hahn's chickens, too. Darned near killed them. He was a very naughty dog. Maybe his soul's in hell."
"You can't go to hell for doing things that come to you naturally," I told her. "Like dogs barking. And digging. Like puppies peeing on the floor before they're trained. Sure, they're naughty, but God won't send them to hell if they do those things."
"I hope you're right."
"Anyway, Mrs. Fahl's in hell."
"How do you know?"
"Hell's where she belongs. And Bones wouldn't be in the same place as his killer, would he? Saint Peter would never allow that."
"I guess not."
"Did I tell you I prayed God would take care of her? And he did. Just like I wanted. With her throat cancer, she could only swallow liquids from a teaspoon before she died. That's what Mother said."
"Gordy, you didn't pray she'd die, did you?"
"You bet I did, and God took care of her, all right."
"You're going to go to hell."
"Am not."
"Are too."
"God wouldn't send me to hell just because I prayed."
"Would too."
"I hope you're wrong."
"I'll pray especially hard so your soul will go to heaven, Gordy. Maybe, I’ll have to become a nun."
"You really don't have to. That was a natural thing I did."
"What are you talking about?"
"Praying for Mrs. Fahl's death, of course. It was natural."
"Gordy, that's shameful. You certainly are going to hell."
* * *
Bobby and I continued on the path.
You couldn't see the little concrete power house—well, that's what we called it—until you were within ten feet of it. And there it was, above the path. It used to have a door years and years ago.
"Why would anyone put up a power house here, of all places?"
"I don't know," said Bobby.
"It had to be a power house because of the fuse box inside, but Indians surely didn't put it up, did they? They didn't use electric lights in their teepees."
"Nah. Anyway, the Grove was an Indian burial ground."
"They didn't bury their dead."
"Then, what did they do?"
"Placed them in birch bark canoes above ground."
The building was no larger than a two-hole outhouse. Its door had been missing forever. Well, maybe not forever, but before I was born, I’ll bet. Inside, you could see the old fuse box. The building didn't have a concrete floor.
"The log's still there," said Bobby.
There was "our" log. Bobby or Jimmy had put it there. Bobby pushed away leaves in front of the log, and dirt from under it. And there it was, a new pack of Phillip Morris cigarettes.
Bobby took his time opening the pack. Finally, he offered me a cigarette and lit it with his Zippo he bought at Kreutzer's second hand store. Neither of us inhaled although we thought we were really big deal, just like grownups. Like everyone else, we called cigarettes "coffin nails" or "cancer sticks". Those things didn't bother us. We'd never die.
We sat on the ground, looked up at the clouds, and enjoyed our leisurely smoke. "I was just thinking about Bones," I said.
"Bones? What bones are you talking about?"
"Our dog, the one that Old Lady Fahl poisoned."
"Oh, that Bones."
"I wonder what happened to him."
"He disintegrated," said my friend. "He disappeared. Just like that."
"Because his soul's in heaven," I said.
"Dogs don't have souls."
"Do too."
"Gordy, you don't know your ass from a hole in the ground."
"What do you mean?"
"It means you're stupid—saying that dogs got souls. You don't know your ass from a hole in the ground."
"Do too."
"I'll show you." Bobby reached for a stick and drew two circles on top of the dirt. And inside those two circles, he dug out a little hole. "Now, this one—" He pointed to the first circle he made with a hole. "—is your ass. And this one—" He pointed to the second drawing. "—is a hole in the ground."
"Okay," I said.
"Now, which one is your ass?"
I immediately pointed to the first circle with a hole. "That one," I said with authority.
Bobby laughed and patted me on my butt. "No, that's your ass."
"Buh, but," I protested.
"See what I said? You don't know your ass from a hole in the ground."
I had been had and let Bobby know it. "And if I pointed to my butt, you would've said it was the one that you drew there. So, I'd be wrong, no matter what I answered."
Bobby kept on laughing. "Gordy Hoffman doesn't know his ass from a hole in the ground and I proved it."
We applauded, especially the boys. Lynn kind of looked like the teenage actress Elizabeth Taylor in "National Velvet." Dark hair and rosy cheeks, she had eyes that reminded me of a whitetail fawn's. Not as large. Almost, though. And whenever she smiled with her brilliant white teeth, I'd say to myself, "When you brush your teeth with Pepsodent, you wonder where the yellow went."
Larry, her older brother, had an unusual nose. Mother called it a button nose. Me, I said it was a "pig's snout."
"You're disgusting, sometimes, Gordy."
Larry and Dork were students in the same grade and became regular pals. Which was reason enough for me to avoid Lynn. Besides, she was a girl. She and Larry lived with their mother in a rental house on the northeast end of Eleventh Street, as close to the Old Grove as anyone could get except for the Billmeyers across the street. Their backyard was the beginning of the Old Grove's west side.
Lynn's mother was really different. Divorced, she chain smoked at least a pack of Lucky Strikes a day, drank beer from the bottle, and cussed like a sailor. Mother didn't approve of divorce, smoking, women drinking, or cussing. Those were precisely the reasons I liked Mrs. Manley.
Lynn was standing on the front porch, dressed in summer clothes. "Aren't you cold?" I shouted.
"No," Lynn shot back. A second later, she crossed her arms in front of her, hunched her shoulders, and added, "It is rather cold, I guess. Where you guys going?"
"Is that your girlfriend?" asked Bobby, snickering.
"No," I whispered.
Bobby pointed to the Old Grove and answered Lynn. "There."
"Wha'cha gonna do?"
I made believe I was smoking by lifting my index and middle fingers to my lips. I inhaled smoke and blew smoke rings.
That's when her mother opened the front door and came out on the porch. "Jesus H. Kuh-rist, Lynn, what in the hell are you doing out here without a coat on?"
A moment later, Lynn disappeared into her rental house.
Bobby and I laughed a long time. “Her mom’s something else, isn’t she?”
“She sure is.”
In no time at all, Bobby and I were on the main path that led to the Old Grove's steep hill. When it wasn't snowing, Cat Lickers attending Saints Peter and Paul Catholic grade school would take a shortcut down the hill. During winter, just about every kid on our side of the river slid down that hill on sleds, cardboard pieces, and toboggans. Only Louie Abler's older brothers went down the hill on a bobsled. And could they go.
There was nobody, not even Jimmy Kell, who could go faster on a sled than I. But I had to carry my sled and run like heck before I belly flopped on Flexible Flyer, grabbed both its handles and went lickety-split down that hill. Also, nobody could go as far as my sled that I called "Flex." Sometimes, Flex and I ended up running over cattails in the marsh, which was quite a way from the hill's bottom.
This was only October and we had no snow. Yet. A quarter of the way down the hill, Bobby made a sharp turn to the east. I followed. It was on a path, but not easily recognized by kids not at home with the Old Grove.
Slightly above this particular path was where Dork and I had laid Bones, our poisoned pet dog. I had often stopped to just look at Bones. For a very long time, he wore his black coat. Eventually, that was gone. Later, it looked like he was smiling because we laid him on his side and his teeth were now showing. Later, I don't know what happened but not even his teeth were there.
* * *
"It's because he's in heaven," I explained to Crazy Annie when she asked me about Bones' disappearance.
"How do you know he's in heaven? He barked like crazy. And he dug up Fahls' garden. Chased after Mrs. Hahn's chickens, too. Darned near killed them. He was a very naughty dog. Maybe his soul's in hell."
"You can't go to hell for doing things that come to you naturally," I told her. "Like dogs barking. And digging. Like puppies peeing on the floor before they're trained. Sure, they're naughty, but God won't send them to hell if they do those things."
"I hope you're right."
"Anyway, Mrs. Fahl's in hell."
"How do you know?"
"Hell's where she belongs. And Bones wouldn't be in the same place as his killer, would he? Saint Peter would never allow that."
"I guess not."
"Did I tell you I prayed God would take care of her? And he did. Just like I wanted. With her throat cancer, she could only swallow liquids from a teaspoon before she died. That's what Mother said."
"Gordy, you didn't pray she'd die, did you?"
"You bet I did, and God took care of her, all right."
"You're going to go to hell."
"Am not."
"Are too."
"God wouldn't send me to hell just because I prayed."
"Would too."
"I hope you're wrong."
"I'll pray especially hard so your soul will go to heaven, Gordy. Maybe, I’ll have to become a nun."
"You really don't have to. That was a natural thing I did."
"What are you talking about?"
"Praying for Mrs. Fahl's death, of course. It was natural."
"Gordy, that's shameful. You certainly are going to hell."
* * *
Bobby and I continued on the path.
You couldn't see the little concrete power house—well, that's what we called it—until you were within ten feet of it. And there it was, above the path. It used to have a door years and years ago.
"Why would anyone put up a power house here, of all places?"
"I don't know," said Bobby.
"It had to be a power house because of the fuse box inside, but Indians surely didn't put it up, did they? They didn't use electric lights in their teepees."
"Nah. Anyway, the Grove was an Indian burial ground."
"They didn't bury their dead."
"Then, what did they do?"
"Placed them in birch bark canoes above ground."
The building was no larger than a two-hole outhouse. Its door had been missing forever. Well, maybe not forever, but before I was born, I’ll bet. Inside, you could see the old fuse box. The building didn't have a concrete floor.
"The log's still there," said Bobby.
There was "our" log. Bobby or Jimmy had put it there. Bobby pushed away leaves in front of the log, and dirt from under it. And there it was, a new pack of Phillip Morris cigarettes.
Bobby took his time opening the pack. Finally, he offered me a cigarette and lit it with his Zippo he bought at Kreutzer's second hand store. Neither of us inhaled although we thought we were really big deal, just like grownups. Like everyone else, we called cigarettes "coffin nails" or "cancer sticks". Those things didn't bother us. We'd never die.
We sat on the ground, looked up at the clouds, and enjoyed our leisurely smoke. "I was just thinking about Bones," I said.
"Bones? What bones are you talking about?"
"Our dog, the one that Old Lady Fahl poisoned."
"Oh, that Bones."
"I wonder what happened to him."
"He disintegrated," said my friend. "He disappeared. Just like that."
"Because his soul's in heaven," I said.
"Dogs don't have souls."
"Do too."
"Gordy, you don't know your ass from a hole in the ground."
"What do you mean?"
"It means you're stupid—saying that dogs got souls. You don't know your ass from a hole in the ground."
"Do too."
"I'll show you." Bobby reached for a stick and drew two circles on top of the dirt. And inside those two circles, he dug out a little hole. "Now, this one—" He pointed to the first circle he made with a hole. "—is your ass. And this one—" He pointed to the second drawing. "—is a hole in the ground."
"Okay," I said.
"Now, which one is your ass?"
I immediately pointed to the first circle with a hole. "That one," I said with authority.
Bobby laughed and patted me on my butt. "No, that's your ass."
"Buh, but," I protested.
"See what I said? You don't know your ass from a hole in the ground."
I had been had and let Bobby know it. "And if I pointed to my butt, you would've said it was the one that you drew there. So, I'd be wrong, no matter what I answered."
Bobby kept on laughing. "Gordy Hoffman doesn't know his ass from a hole in the ground and I proved it."
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