Hi, Diary. It's Gordon Bartholomew Hoffman.
"What're you doing?" I asked Ed Kubisiak the next time he visited the next door empty lot.
"Still full of questions, ain't cha? Well, I'll tell you. I'm here to build a—"
"We don't want a house built here. This is our playground."
"Well, as I was trying to say before I was rudely inter—"
"We play softball, kick the can, plus pole vau—"
"Well, tell your friends Johnnie, the Polack, owns this lot and hired me to build his house here, and that's exactly what I'm gonna do. I'm not here to upset anyone. It's my job. That's how I make my living to feed my family. You tell your friends they'll have to find another place to play. Right now, I'm gonna pound stakes on four corners where Johnnie’s house is gonna stand. That way, the fellow operating the digger will know exactly where to dig the basement. Next, a plumber and probably his helper will come here and lay some drain pipes and water pipes to hook up to the city sewer and water lines. Then, Ready-Mix trucks will unload concrete for the basement floor. Finishers will smooth it out. After the floor is dried, masons will put up a wall and foundation. Then, it's my turn to build the rest of the house, roof included. Now, you got any more questions?"
I didn't.
When the power shovel arrived, it seemed just about every kid within six blocks was there to watch. Huge scoops of dirt soon formed a gigantic dirt pile although our former playground had a big, deep hole in the center. "Hey," said Jimmy Kell, "that pile gives me an idea. We can play King of the Hill."
"Yeah," other kids and I agreed.
Then, Jimmy added, "After supper tonight, okay?"
"You got it."
After supper is exactly when a bunch of us met and chose two teams, based on size. One team couldn't have all the big guys and call that fair, now could it? We had a lot of fun climbing and pushing guys on top down the hill, or the guys on top pushed us back down the hill and then we climbed back up, that is, until Smitty stood there. "What 're you doing here?" thundered our favorite cop. "You guys gotta stop playing on that dirt pile. This is private property and you're trespassing."
"Are you serious?" asked Glen Peterson.
"As serious as President Truman," answered the cop. Smitty gave us a break one night when he caught Paul, Glen, and me nipping apples from a neighbor's tree.
"Who complained?" demanded Paul.
"The owner drove by here, seen ya, and called Chief Exner," said Smitty.
"We didn't see nobody drive by," piped in Johnny Nelson.
"That's because you were too busy playing and having fun."
"What you're telling us is that kids in this town can't have no fun," complained Jimmy Kell.
"I didn't say that at all. You can't play on Johnnie the Polack's private property is what I’m saying."
"Say," Bobby Kell said, "I know what we can do, instead."
"What's that?" demanded his older brother.
"Since we can't use this place to play anymore, why don't we go to the Old Grove and dig up No Name?"
"What?" everybody else but me asked.
"Who's No Name? I think you're making that up," said Larry Manley.
"No Name's an Indian, buried under a large white stone on top of Old Grove hill," explained Bobby.
"How do you know No Name's buried there?" asked Dork, my older brother. He and Larry, both big deal high school freshmen, didn't play King of the Hill but had left our house when they saw Smitty get out of his squad. Dork was probably hoping I'd get arrested and sent to the Green Bay Reformatory for the rest of my childhood. After that, the next stop would be the Waupun State Prison. "Bobby's telling the truth," I said.
"That's just a made-up story. It's a fantasy," Dork added.
"You're full of baloney,” I yelled at my brother. "No Name has no name," I explained, "because he sold Indian land to the white man for practically nothing. So, when he died, his tribal members buried him under that big white rock, White Man style, so his soul couldn't enjoy eternity with other Indians in the Happy Hunting Grounds. Me? I'm going to help Bobby."
I waited for others to speak up, but nobody else said a word. I needed to pee. Finally, Bobby said, "We'll start tomorrow, Gordy."
"You and me, Bobby, we'll be heroes, won't we?"
"I don't know about that," he said, "but you'd better bring a shovel."
Bobby's so darned practical.
"What're you doing?" I asked Ed Kubisiak the next time he visited the next door empty lot.
"Still full of questions, ain't cha? Well, I'll tell you. I'm here to build a—"
"We don't want a house built here. This is our playground."
"Well, as I was trying to say before I was rudely inter—"
"We play softball, kick the can, plus pole vau—"
"Well, tell your friends Johnnie, the Polack, owns this lot and hired me to build his house here, and that's exactly what I'm gonna do. I'm not here to upset anyone. It's my job. That's how I make my living to feed my family. You tell your friends they'll have to find another place to play. Right now, I'm gonna pound stakes on four corners where Johnnie’s house is gonna stand. That way, the fellow operating the digger will know exactly where to dig the basement. Next, a plumber and probably his helper will come here and lay some drain pipes and water pipes to hook up to the city sewer and water lines. Then, Ready-Mix trucks will unload concrete for the basement floor. Finishers will smooth it out. After the floor is dried, masons will put up a wall and foundation. Then, it's my turn to build the rest of the house, roof included. Now, you got any more questions?"
I didn't.
When the power shovel arrived, it seemed just about every kid within six blocks was there to watch. Huge scoops of dirt soon formed a gigantic dirt pile although our former playground had a big, deep hole in the center. "Hey," said Jimmy Kell, "that pile gives me an idea. We can play King of the Hill."
"Yeah," other kids and I agreed.
Then, Jimmy added, "After supper tonight, okay?"
"You got it."
After supper is exactly when a bunch of us met and chose two teams, based on size. One team couldn't have all the big guys and call that fair, now could it? We had a lot of fun climbing and pushing guys on top down the hill, or the guys on top pushed us back down the hill and then we climbed back up, that is, until Smitty stood there. "What 're you doing here?" thundered our favorite cop. "You guys gotta stop playing on that dirt pile. This is private property and you're trespassing."
"Are you serious?" asked Glen Peterson.
"As serious as President Truman," answered the cop. Smitty gave us a break one night when he caught Paul, Glen, and me nipping apples from a neighbor's tree.
"Who complained?" demanded Paul.
"The owner drove by here, seen ya, and called Chief Exner," said Smitty.
"We didn't see nobody drive by," piped in Johnny Nelson.
"That's because you were too busy playing and having fun."
"What you're telling us is that kids in this town can't have no fun," complained Jimmy Kell.
"I didn't say that at all. You can't play on Johnnie the Polack's private property is what I’m saying."
"Say," Bobby Kell said, "I know what we can do, instead."
"What's that?" demanded his older brother.
"Since we can't use this place to play anymore, why don't we go to the Old Grove and dig up No Name?"
"What?" everybody else but me asked.
"Who's No Name? I think you're making that up," said Larry Manley.
"No Name's an Indian, buried under a large white stone on top of Old Grove hill," explained Bobby.
"How do you know No Name's buried there?" asked Dork, my older brother. He and Larry, both big deal high school freshmen, didn't play King of the Hill but had left our house when they saw Smitty get out of his squad. Dork was probably hoping I'd get arrested and sent to the Green Bay Reformatory for the rest of my childhood. After that, the next stop would be the Waupun State Prison. "Bobby's telling the truth," I said.
"That's just a made-up story. It's a fantasy," Dork added.
"You're full of baloney,” I yelled at my brother. "No Name has no name," I explained, "because he sold Indian land to the white man for practically nothing. So, when he died, his tribal members buried him under that big white rock, White Man style, so his soul couldn't enjoy eternity with other Indians in the Happy Hunting Grounds. Me? I'm going to help Bobby."
I waited for others to speak up, but nobody else said a word. I needed to pee. Finally, Bobby said, "We'll start tomorrow, Gordy."
"You and me, Bobby, we'll be heroes, won't we?"
"I don't know about that," he said, "but you'd better bring a shovel."
Bobby's so darned practical.
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