Hi, Diary. It's Gordy again.
This school year, our city fathers—Dad calls them Big Wheels—set up a Saturday afternoon matinee program between members of the school board and theater owners so grade school kids like yours truly could watch "classic" movies.
The blue tickets, much larger than normal-sized tickets, aren't torn in two by the usher as he usually rips up normal-sized theater tickets and returns a half-piece. All we do is show him these tickets. He nods. And then we put them away. I put mine inside my wallet with a pair of six guns and a saddle on the outside. The tickets cost a dollar and a half each, or as Lee Anunson says, "A buck fifty a pop."
The tickets are good for each Saturday during the entire nine-month long school year. Most parents paid that price. Some parents couldn't. We didn't know who they were, but the poor kids got free tickets that looked exactly like ours, thanks to an "anonymous benefactor," according to a front-page story in the Wisconsin Rapids Daily Tribune. Nobody knows who that benefactor was, but Tim Lattimore and Karen Clinkenbeard guessed it was Stanton Mead, the richest man in town. He owns the huge Consolidated paper mill, which makes the shiny paper for Life magazine.
"No way," said Mother, after I told her what Karen and Tim said.
"Why not?" I asked. "Mister Mead has plenty of money. He's a multi-millionaire."
"And how, young man, do you think he got to be that wealthy?"
I shrugged. "Having Mister Kell and hundreds of other men in town making paper for him to sell, of course."
"Partially correct. I'll tell you how he really made his money. The man's cheap. A skinflint. That's what. Old man Mead holds his nickels so tight, the buffaloes squeal."
Naturally, I pictured in my mind a bunch of buffaloes squealing. I couldn't help but laugh.
Back to those Saturday movies. What a deal, eh? "The Adventures of Robin Hood," starring Errol ("In like Flynn") Flynn. (That's what Dad calls him). It was the first movie we got to see. My friends and I really liked it. Lots. Robin of Locksley was not only a great archer, he was a fantastic swordsman. Added to that, he stole from the rich and gave to the poor. That wouldn't go too well with Stanton Mead, would it? So, maybe Mother's right. He wasn't the benefactor.
Other characters in the movie included Friar Tuck with his gravelly voice and big belly. Boy, was he ever funny. Little John wasn't so little. He was a lot bigger than Robin but he lost a stick battle with Robin over a creek and fell in. Robin liked Maid Marion a lot, and she liked him back. Yuck. The Sheriff of Nottingham was a real nasty guy and we cheered like mad when he finally lost a sword fight with Robin although it was touch and go for a long time. Paul Peterson screamed, "Kill 'im, the bastard."
Oops. That brought the usher who shined his flashlight on Paul, placing an index finger perpendicular to his lips. "Sorry," said Paul.
"Do that again, and you're out," warned the usher, a tall high school kid.
Early Monday morning following that movie, our teacher, Miss Wren, asked us how we liked the movie. I think my hand was the first to shoot up. "Yes, Gordon?"
"The movie. It was great."
"Thank you, Gordon, but I must tell all of you, the book on which the movie is based is far more interesting and exciting than the movie, and I'm going to give each student a chance to earn extra credit."
Judy Palmer's hand shot up. "Yes, Judy?" Miss Wren called on the smartest, sweetest girl in our class.
"Miss Wren, how can we earn extra credit?"
Oh, no, I thought, who wants extra credit?
"By reading the book the movie is based on and handing in a written book report."
That very afternoon after school, the librarian at the public library added my name to a long list. Paul Peterson, Billy Schroeder, and Roger Aton were ahead of me but Tim Lattimore and Lee Anunson were behind me. "This is certainly a popular book," said the librarian.
"That's because our teacher is giving us extra credit for reading it."
The librarian who wore her hair in a tight bun smiled. If you ask me, I'd tell you she is the most elegant lady in Wisconsin Rapids. But you didn't ask. Because you can't. You're a diary.
Weeks later, I had almost forgotten about the book and the list, but Mother told me after I returned home from school, "Gordy, the city librarian telephoned this afternoon. She said you must pick up the Robin Hood book before closing time, or you'll be put to the bottom of the list, and the next person after your name will be able to check it out."
I couldn't let Lee or Tim get that book before me. "Then, I better get going." So, I turned around, flew down the front stairs, and picked up the Schwinn from which I recently removed both fenders. I figured it would be lighter and faster. As usual, I had dropped it on the front lawn. I rode to the library as quickly as I could and was out of breath when I approached the librarian's station. "And what can I do for you, young man?" the librarian half-whispered.
I kind of felt she knew what I wanted but I whispered back. "I'm Gordy Hoffman, and my mom told me I should come here for the Robin Hood book, or else my name will be put on the bottom of the list."
"Gordy Hoffman, hmmmm? No. No name like that here, but I do have a Gordon Hoffman."
See what I mean? Elegant.
"That's me."
"That is I," she corrected.
"Yeah, that's right."
"And here is the book, Gordon." She lifted it up but didn't give it to me.
I read the title aloud. "The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood of Great Renown in Nottingham."
"You said it perfectly."
"That's an awfully long title. Isn't it?"
Smiling, she removed the due date card from the paper pocket on the inside rear cover and stamped it with the date stamp, that is, after she pounded the stamp on an ink pad. "Instead of the normal two-week period, you will be allowed to keep this book for only one week, Gordon." She pointed to the date. "See?"
"That's because of Miss Wren."
"Your teacher, I assume."
"Yes." I accepted the book and carried the treasure home and finished it in two nights. I would've finished it in one night, but the batteries in my boy scout flashlight burned out. Later, I mean, who could go to sleep and resist flying arrows and lurking danger around every Nottingham forest tree? I couldn't. So, I got up from my bed and tiptoed into the bathroom, turned on the light, closed the door, sat on the throne, and read until I became too tired. I'm sure I fell asleep a couple of times while I sat on the throne.
Although I liked the movie better, when I handed in my book report, I told my teacher, "You were right. The book was much more interesting than the movie." I hoped my lie might give me as much extra credit as Judy Palmer would certainly receive.
Miss Wren smiled as she sucked on a piece of hard candy. She's always sucking on a chunk of hard candy which makes one cheek or the other pop out. "That is exactly what I expected, Gordon." Ugh. Miss Wren has the most terrible breath in the world, and that's why my classmates and I don't like it when she gets too close to us whenever she talks. Well, anyway, Errol Flynn's Robin Hood was quite the swashbuckler and daredevil. Most any boy would naturally like to be like him, Gordon Bartholomew Hoffman included.
That's why the Old Grove's hillside, with its many trees to either climb or hide behind and underbrush, in which to conceal ourselves became not only the place to play War on Iwo Jima's beach or France or Germany's towns and cities and fields, it magically became Nottingham's Sherwood Forest on those many days during the summer following our watching the movie and reading the book about Robin Hood and his merry men.
This school year, our city fathers—Dad calls them Big Wheels—set up a Saturday afternoon matinee program between members of the school board and theater owners so grade school kids like yours truly could watch "classic" movies.
The blue tickets, much larger than normal-sized tickets, aren't torn in two by the usher as he usually rips up normal-sized theater tickets and returns a half-piece. All we do is show him these tickets. He nods. And then we put them away. I put mine inside my wallet with a pair of six guns and a saddle on the outside. The tickets cost a dollar and a half each, or as Lee Anunson says, "A buck fifty a pop."
The tickets are good for each Saturday during the entire nine-month long school year. Most parents paid that price. Some parents couldn't. We didn't know who they were, but the poor kids got free tickets that looked exactly like ours, thanks to an "anonymous benefactor," according to a front-page story in the Wisconsin Rapids Daily Tribune. Nobody knows who that benefactor was, but Tim Lattimore and Karen Clinkenbeard guessed it was Stanton Mead, the richest man in town. He owns the huge Consolidated paper mill, which makes the shiny paper for Life magazine.
"No way," said Mother, after I told her what Karen and Tim said.
"Why not?" I asked. "Mister Mead has plenty of money. He's a multi-millionaire."
"And how, young man, do you think he got to be that wealthy?"
I shrugged. "Having Mister Kell and hundreds of other men in town making paper for him to sell, of course."
"Partially correct. I'll tell you how he really made his money. The man's cheap. A skinflint. That's what. Old man Mead holds his nickels so tight, the buffaloes squeal."
Naturally, I pictured in my mind a bunch of buffaloes squealing. I couldn't help but laugh.
Back to those Saturday movies. What a deal, eh? "The Adventures of Robin Hood," starring Errol ("In like Flynn") Flynn. (That's what Dad calls him). It was the first movie we got to see. My friends and I really liked it. Lots. Robin of Locksley was not only a great archer, he was a fantastic swordsman. Added to that, he stole from the rich and gave to the poor. That wouldn't go too well with Stanton Mead, would it? So, maybe Mother's right. He wasn't the benefactor.
Other characters in the movie included Friar Tuck with his gravelly voice and big belly. Boy, was he ever funny. Little John wasn't so little. He was a lot bigger than Robin but he lost a stick battle with Robin over a creek and fell in. Robin liked Maid Marion a lot, and she liked him back. Yuck. The Sheriff of Nottingham was a real nasty guy and we cheered like mad when he finally lost a sword fight with Robin although it was touch and go for a long time. Paul Peterson screamed, "Kill 'im, the bastard."
Oops. That brought the usher who shined his flashlight on Paul, placing an index finger perpendicular to his lips. "Sorry," said Paul.
"Do that again, and you're out," warned the usher, a tall high school kid.
Early Monday morning following that movie, our teacher, Miss Wren, asked us how we liked the movie. I think my hand was the first to shoot up. "Yes, Gordon?"
"The movie. It was great."
"Thank you, Gordon, but I must tell all of you, the book on which the movie is based is far more interesting and exciting than the movie, and I'm going to give each student a chance to earn extra credit."
Judy Palmer's hand shot up. "Yes, Judy?" Miss Wren called on the smartest, sweetest girl in our class.
"Miss Wren, how can we earn extra credit?"
Oh, no, I thought, who wants extra credit?
"By reading the book the movie is based on and handing in a written book report."
That very afternoon after school, the librarian at the public library added my name to a long list. Paul Peterson, Billy Schroeder, and Roger Aton were ahead of me but Tim Lattimore and Lee Anunson were behind me. "This is certainly a popular book," said the librarian.
"That's because our teacher is giving us extra credit for reading it."
The librarian who wore her hair in a tight bun smiled. If you ask me, I'd tell you she is the most elegant lady in Wisconsin Rapids. But you didn't ask. Because you can't. You're a diary.
Weeks later, I had almost forgotten about the book and the list, but Mother told me after I returned home from school, "Gordy, the city librarian telephoned this afternoon. She said you must pick up the Robin Hood book before closing time, or you'll be put to the bottom of the list, and the next person after your name will be able to check it out."
I couldn't let Lee or Tim get that book before me. "Then, I better get going." So, I turned around, flew down the front stairs, and picked up the Schwinn from which I recently removed both fenders. I figured it would be lighter and faster. As usual, I had dropped it on the front lawn. I rode to the library as quickly as I could and was out of breath when I approached the librarian's station. "And what can I do for you, young man?" the librarian half-whispered.
I kind of felt she knew what I wanted but I whispered back. "I'm Gordy Hoffman, and my mom told me I should come here for the Robin Hood book, or else my name will be put on the bottom of the list."
"Gordy Hoffman, hmmmm? No. No name like that here, but I do have a Gordon Hoffman."
See what I mean? Elegant.
"That's me."
"That is I," she corrected.
"Yeah, that's right."
"And here is the book, Gordon." She lifted it up but didn't give it to me.
I read the title aloud. "The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood of Great Renown in Nottingham."
"You said it perfectly."
"That's an awfully long title. Isn't it?"
Smiling, she removed the due date card from the paper pocket on the inside rear cover and stamped it with the date stamp, that is, after she pounded the stamp on an ink pad. "Instead of the normal two-week period, you will be allowed to keep this book for only one week, Gordon." She pointed to the date. "See?"
"That's because of Miss Wren."
"Your teacher, I assume."
"Yes." I accepted the book and carried the treasure home and finished it in two nights. I would've finished it in one night, but the batteries in my boy scout flashlight burned out. Later, I mean, who could go to sleep and resist flying arrows and lurking danger around every Nottingham forest tree? I couldn't. So, I got up from my bed and tiptoed into the bathroom, turned on the light, closed the door, sat on the throne, and read until I became too tired. I'm sure I fell asleep a couple of times while I sat on the throne.
Although I liked the movie better, when I handed in my book report, I told my teacher, "You were right. The book was much more interesting than the movie." I hoped my lie might give me as much extra credit as Judy Palmer would certainly receive.
Miss Wren smiled as she sucked on a piece of hard candy. She's always sucking on a chunk of hard candy which makes one cheek or the other pop out. "That is exactly what I expected, Gordon." Ugh. Miss Wren has the most terrible breath in the world, and that's why my classmates and I don't like it when she gets too close to us whenever she talks. Well, anyway, Errol Flynn's Robin Hood was quite the swashbuckler and daredevil. Most any boy would naturally like to be like him, Gordon Bartholomew Hoffman included.
That's why the Old Grove's hillside, with its many trees to either climb or hide behind and underbrush, in which to conceal ourselves became not only the place to play War on Iwo Jima's beach or France or Germany's towns and cities and fields, it magically became Nottingham's Sherwood Forest on those many days during the summer following our watching the movie and reading the book about Robin Hood and his merry men.
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